est on the investment, interest on the money we borrowed,
groceries, the cook's wages, and we'll need helpers through the
Yellowstone."

"You're gettin' an awful habit of lookin' on the black side of things,"
said Pinkey, crossly.

"If we can pay expenses and have a $1,000 clear the first year, I'll be
satisfied."

"A thousand dollars!" Pinkey exclaimed, indignantly. "You're easy
pleased--I thought you had more ambition. Look at the different ways we
got to git their money. Two bits apiece for salt water baths and eight
baths a day--some of 'em might not go in reg'lar--every day, but, say
eight of 'em do, anyway, eight times two bits is $2.00. Then $10.00
apiece every time they go to town in the stage-coach is, say, $100 a
trip--and they go twict a week, say, that's $200."

"But they might not go twice a week," Wallie protested, "nor all of them
at a time."

"You shore give me the blues a croakin'. Why don't you look on the
bright side of things like you useta? Do you know, I've been thinkin' we
ought to make out a scale of prices for lettin' 'em work around the
place. They'd enjoy it if they had to pay for it--dudes is like that,
I've noticed. They're all pretty well fixed, ain't they?"

"Oh, yes, they all have a good deal of money, unless, perhaps Miss
Eyester, and I don't know much about her in that way. But Mr. Penrose,
Mr. Appel, and Mr. Budlong are easily millionaires."

Pinkey's eyes sparkled.

"I s'pose a dollar ain't any more to them than a nickel to us?"

Wallie endeavoured to think of an instance which would indicate that
Pinkey's supposition was correct, but, recalling none, declared
enthusiastically:

"They are the most agreeable, altogether delightful people you ever
knew, and, if I do say it, they think the world of me."

"That's good; maybe they won't deal us so much grief."

"How--grief?"

"Misery," Pinkey explained.

"I can't imagine them doing anything ill-natured or ill-bred," Wallie
replied, resentfully. "You must have been unfortunate in the kind of
dudes you've met."

Pinkey changed the subject as he did when he was unconvinced but he was
in no mood for argument. He climbed to the top pole of the corral fence
and looked proudly at the row of ten-by-twelve tents which the guests
were to occupy, at the long tar-paper room built on to the original
cabin for a dining room, at the new bunk-house for himself and Wallie
and the help, at the shed with a dozen new saddles hanging on the