she could understand. I felt like a
monkey though, having my hair mussed and thinkin' maybe next minute
she'd give me the knife. And the Boss he sat there grinnin' like a Jack
lantern.

I didn't get a chance to break away until we got to our own ranch. Then
we left her sitting in the buggy while we went up to make a lightnin'
change. Sure, I've got a head waiter's rig; bought it the time I had to
lead off the grand march at the Tim Grogan Association's tenth annual
ball, but I never looked to wear it out attendin' grand opera.

"I hope the Van Urbans will appreciate that I'm givin' 'em a treat,"
says I.

"They'll be blind if they don't," says the Boss. "Is it your collar that
hurts?"

"No, it's the shoes," says I, "but the pain'll numb down by the time we
get there."

We made our grand entry about the end of the second spasm. The Van
Urbans had taken their corners. There was Papa Van Urban, lookin' like
ready money; and Mamma Van Urban, made up regardless; and Sis Van Urban,
one of those tall Gainsborough girls that any piker could pick for a
winner on form and past performance.

Say, it took all the front I had in stock just to tag along as an also
ran, but when I thought of the Boss, headin' the procession, I was dead
sorry for him. And what kind of a game do you think he hands out?
Straight talk, nothin' but! Course he didn't make no family hist'ry out
of tellin' who his lady-fren' was, but as far as he went it tallied with
the card, even to lettin' on that she was a Lady Brigandess.

"Out we go now," says I to myself, and looks to see Mamma Van Urban
throw a cat fit. But she didn't. She just squealed a little, same's if
someone had tickled her behind the ear, and then she began slingin' that
gurgly-gurgly Newport talk that the Sixt' avenue sales ladies use. Sis
Van Urban caught the same cue, and to hear 'em you'd thought the Boss
had done something real cute. They gave the Lady Brigandess the High
Bridge wig-wag and shooed her into a stage corner chair.

She never made a kick at anything until they tried to take away her
cloak. Not much! She was just beginnin' to be stuck on that. She kept it
wrapped around her like she knew the proprietor wa'n't responsible for
overcoats. The Boss tried to tell her how there wa'n't any grand larceny
intended, but it was no go. She had her suspicions of the crowd, so they
just had to let her sit there draped in black. And at that she wa'n't
any misfit.

Now I'd been insi