. I wish I'd joined
the White-Ribboners like Mrs. Tubbs wanted me to."

"Well, we'll organize a Hoboes' Chapter of the W. C. T. U. and have
meetings under the water-tank at the depot--"

They were interrupted by a hail from the road-house. A large man with a
detective's mustache and a brewer's cheeks, a man in shirt-sleeves and a
white apron, stood on the porch, calling, "Hey! Mr. and Mrs. Smith! Come
right in and get warm."

Father and Mother stared at each other. "He means us," gasped Father.

Mechanically the Innocents straggled across the road.

The saloon-keeper shook hands with both of them, and bellowed: "Lady
telephoned along the line--great things for gossip, these rural
telephones--said you was coming this way, and we're all watching out for
you. You come right into the parlor. No booze served in there, Mrs.
Smith. Make yourselves comfortable, and I'll have the Frau cut you up a
coupla sandwiches. How'd you leave San Francisco? Pretty warm out there,
ain't it?"

He had, by this time, shooed them into the plush and crayon-enlargement
parlor behind the barroom. His great voice overawed them--and they were
cold. Mother secretively looked for evidences of vice, for a
roulette-table or a blackjack, but found nothing more sinful than a box
of dominoes, so she perched on a cane chair and folded her hands
respectably.

"How's San Francisco?" repeated the saloon-keeper.

"Why--uh--um--uh--how do you mean?" Father observed.

"Yes, I heard how you folks 've tramped from there. How is it, nice
climate out there?"

"Why, it's pretty nice--orange groves 'most everywhere. Nice climate,"
said Father, avoiding Mother's accusing look and desperately hoping she
wouldn't feel moved to be veracious and virtuous.

"Hey, Mamie, here's the old couple that 've tramped clear from San
Francisco," bawled the saloon-keeper.

A maternal German woman, with a white apron of about the proportions of
a cup defender's mainsail, billowed into the room, exclaimed over
Mother's wet feet, provided dry stockings and felt slippers for her, and
insisted on stuffing both of them with fried eggs and potato salad. The
saloon-keeper and a select coterie of farmers asked Father questions
about San Francisco, Kansas, rainy seasons, the foot-and-mouth disease,
irrigation, Western movie studios, and the extent of Mormonism. Father
stuck pretty closely to a Sunday-newspaper description of the
Panama-Pacific Exposition for answers to everything,