f the silly supplements in the Sunday papers, but after
seeing Mose perform with that rolling-pin, he was willing to call every
edition of the "funny papers" realistic to a degree. Since it was Jim
who helped pull Mose off, naturally he felt qualified to judge. Jim told
Ford about the affair with sober face and eyes that laughed.

"And where's Dick?" Ford asked him, without committing himself upon the
justice of the chastisement.

"Gone to bed, I believe. He didn't come out with anything worse than
bumps, I guess--but what I saw of them are sure peaches; or maybe
Italian prunes would hit them off closer; they're a fine purple shade. I
ladled Three H all over him."

"I thought Dick was a fighter from Fighterville," grinned Ford, trying
hard to remain non-committal and making a poor job of it.

"Well, he is, when he can stand up and box according to rule, or hit a
man when he isn't looking. But my, oh! This wasn't a fight, Ford; this
was like the pictures you see of an old woman lambasting her son-in-law
with an umbrella. Dick never got a chance to begin. Whee-ee! Mose sure
can handle a rolling-pin some!"

Ford laughed and went up to the house to his supper, and to the
constrained atmosphere which was telling on his nerves more severely
than did the gallon jug in his closet, and the moral effort it cost to
keep that jug full to the neck.

He went in quietly, threw his hat on the bed, and sat down with an air
of discouragement. It was not yet six o'clock, and he knew that Mrs.
Kate would not have supper ready; but he wanted a quiet place in which
to think, and he was closer to Josephine; though he would never have
admitted to himself that her nearness was any comfort to him. He did
admit, however, that the jug with the brown neck and handle pulled him
to the room many times in spite of himself. He would take it from the
corner of the closet and let his fingers close over the cork, but so far
he had never yielded beyond that point. Always he had been able to set
the jug back unopened.

He was getting circles under his eyes, two new creases had appeared on
each side of his whimsical lips, and a permanent line was forming
between his eyebrows; but he had not opened the jug, and it had been in
his possession thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours is not long, to be
sure, when life runs smoothly with slight incidents to emphasize the
figures on the dial, but it may seem long to the poor devil on the rack.

Just now Ford wa