at, after a rather heated
interview in the home of Mr. Schultz, senior, that gentleman admitted it
would be cheaper for her to come and live with them after the wedding
than to present her with the thousand dollars she demanded in case Otto
preferred war to peace.

Mr. Crow, on the 5th of June, strode proudly, efficiently, up and down
Main Street, always stopping at the registration booth to slap former
fiances on the back and encourage them with such remarks as this:

"That's right, son. If you've _got_ to fight, fight for your country."

To Mr. Alf Reesling he confided:

"I tell you what, Alf, when this here Kaiser comes up ag'inst me he
strikes a snag. He couldn't 'a' started his plot in a worse place than
here in Tinkletown. Gosh, with all you hear about German efficiency,
you'd 'a' thought he'd 'a' knowed better, wouldn't you?"

THE PERFECT END OF A DAY

ANDERSON CROW GETS ONE ON THE KAISER

A long, low-lying bank of almost inky-black clouds hung over a blood-red
horizon. The sun of a warm, drowsy September day was going to bed beyond
the scallop of hills.

Suddenly the red in the sky, as if fanned by an angry wind, blazed into
a rigid flame; catching the base of the coal-black cloud it turned its
edges into fire; and as the flame burnt itself out, the rich yellow of
gold came to glorify the triumphant cloud. The nether edge seemed to dip
into a lake, the shores of which were molten gold and upon whose surface
craft of ever-changing colours lay moored for the coming night.

Anderson Crow, Marshal of Tinkletown, leaned upon his front-yard fence
and listened to the rhapsodic comments of Miss Sue Becker on the passing
panorama. Miss Becker, who had contributed several poems to the columns
of the Tinkletown _Banner_, and more than once had exhibited encouraging
letters from the editors of _McClure's_, _Scribner's_, _Harper's_, and
other magazines, was always worth listening to, for, as every one knows,
she was the first, and, so far as revealed, the only literary genius
ever created within the precincts of Tinkletown.

"You'll have to write a piece about it, Sue," said Anderson, shifting
his spare frame slightly.

"No mortal pen, Mr. Crow, could do justice to the grandeur, the
overpowering splendour of that vista," said she.

Anderson took another look at the sunset,--a more or less stealthy one,
it must be confessed, out of the corner of his eye. Sunsets were not
much in his line.

"It's a grea