ted?" he asked, lounging across to
Joe, his hands in his pockets.

Morgan wore a shirt as gay-striped as a Persian tent, and he had removed
his coat so the world, or such of it as was present in the kitchen,
might behold it and admire. Joe withdrew his hands from his forelock and
looked at Morgan curiously. The lad's eyes were sleep-heavy and red, and
he was almost as dull-looking, perhaps, as Morgan imagined him to be.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I asked you if you thought you'd be elected this fall," repeated
Morgan, in mock seriousness.

"I don't know what you mean," said Joe, turning from him indifferently.

"Why, ain't you runnin' for President on the squash-vine ticket?" asked
Morgan. "I heard you was the can'idate."

Joe got up from the table and moved his chair away with his foot. As he
was thus occupied he saw Ollie's shadow on the wall repeat a gesture of
caution which she made to Morgan, a lifting of the hand, a shaking of
the head. Even the shadow betrayed the intimate understanding between
them. Joe went over and stood in the door.

"No use for you to try to be a fool, Morgan; that's been attended to for
you already," said he.

There wasn't much heart in Morgan's laugh, but it would pass for one on
account of the volume of sound.

"Oh, let a feller have his joke, won't you, Joe?" said he.

"Go ahead," granted Joe, leaning his shoulder against the jamb, facing
out toward the dark.

Morgan went over and put his hand on the great lad's shoulder, with a
show of friendly condescension.

"What would the world be without its jokes?" he asked. And then, before
anybody could answer: "It'd be like home without a mother."

Joe faced him, a slow grin spreading back to his ears.

"Or a ready-reckoner," said he.

Morgan's laugh that time was unfeigned.

"Joe, you've missed your callin'," said he. "You've got no business
foolin' away your time on a farm. With that solemn, long-hungry look of
yours you ought to be sellin' consumption cure and ringbone ointment
from the end of a wagon on the square in Kansas City."

"Or books, maybe," suggested Joe.

"No-o-o," said Morgan thoughtfully, "I wouldn't just say you're up to
the level of books. But you might rise even to books if you'd cultivate
your mind and brain. Well, I think I'll fly up to roost. I've got to
take an early start in the morning and clean up on this neck of the
woods tomorrow. Good night, folks."

"I don't suppose Isom'll be home to