ing he
give two hundred dollars for. Yes, sir, he paid for a dog, he give real
money for a four-legged, yelping wire-hound. It ain't a rabbit dog, nor a
sheep dog, nor even a bull-dog; but just plain, stinking dog."

"Ah, he did like hell, give two hundred for a dog!"

"Yes, he did. That's right, didn't you, Gord? Two hundred! I saw the
cheque. God dam' if he didn't!"

Gordon admitted the facts as far as they had been stated. "But this dog,"
he explained, "is different from the just happen so hounds around here.
This dog has got a pedigree, his parents were united by the church all
regular and highly fashionable. He ain't expected to run rabbits nor mangy
sheep; he just sits on the stoop eating sausages and syrup, and takes a
leg off any low down parties that visit with him without a collar on.
He'll be on the Stenton stage this evening," he added. "I got word last
night he was coming."

They lounged to the entrance of the store, gazing over the still road, in
the direction from which the stage would arrive. Valentine Simmons was in
his office; and, as Gordon passed, he knocked on the glass of the
enclosure, and beckoned the other to enter.

He greeted Gordon Makimmon cordially, waving him to a seat. Valentine
Simmons never, apparently, changed; his countenance was always freshly
pink, the tufts of hair above his ears like combed lamb's wool; his shirt
with its single, visible blue button never lacked its immaculate gloss.

"You're looking as jaunty as a man should with the choice of the land
before him. Lucky! lucky! charming little wife, large fortune at your
disposal.... Pompey left one of the solidest estates in this section.
Opportune for you, very ... miraculous, if I may say so. But there, you
ornament the money as well as any other. You are right too--a free hand;
yours is the time for liberality, no cares--they come later. Ah, Gordon,
have you examined the details of your late father-in-law's property? Have
you searched through all the items, made yourself familiar with all
the--er, petty and laborious details?"

"No, not just yet, I have been intending--"

Simmons stopped him with an upraised palm. "No more, I understand your
thought exactly. It's a tiresome business. Yours is the time for
liberality, no cares. However, I had a slight knowledge of Pompey
Hollidew's arrangements. He was accustomed to discussing them with me. He
liked my judgment in certain little matters; and, in that way, I got a
gene