“They're on the way to the county seat now,” Jim said softly. “Missfire! Not on your life.” His voice lost the cool, quiet tone he had so often dreamed of maintaining in great emergencies. “I figure they'll be back by twelve or one,” he said eagerly. “We got to blow 'em out, Tom. We got to give that girl and her husband the biggest blowout ever seen in this county, and we got just about three hours to get ready for it.” “Get off that horse and give me a boost,” Tom commanded. With a grunt of satisfaction he sprang to the horse's back. The belated impulse to philander that an hour before sent him creeping through back streets and alleyways to the door of Fanny Twist's house was all gone, and in its place had come the spirit of the man of affairs, the man who, as he himself often boasted, made things move and kept them on the move. “Now look here, Jim,” he said sharply, “there are three livery stables in this town. You engage every horse they've got for the night. Have the horses hitched to any kind of rigs you can find, buggies, surreys, spring wagons, anything. Have them get drivers off the streets, anywhere. Then have them all brought around in front of the Bidwell House and held for me. When you've done that, you go to Henry Heller's house. I guess you can find it. You found this house where I was fast enough. He lives on Campus Street just beyond the new Baptist Church. If he's gone to bed you get him up. Tell him to get his orchestra together and have him bring all the lively music he's got. Tell him to bring his men to the Bidwell House as fast as he can get them there.” Tom rode off along the street followed by Jim Priest, running at the horse's heels. When he had gone a little way he stopped. “Don't let any one fuss with you about prices to-night, Jim,” he called. “Tell every one it's for me. Tell 'em Tom Butterworth'll pay what they ask. The sky's the limit to-night, Jim. That's the word, the sky's the limit.”