be surprised if you have saw towns more
livelier than what Atascosa City is. Sometimes it seems to me that
there ought to be some more ways of having a good time than there is
here, 'specially when you've got plenty of money and don't mind
spending it.'

"Then this Mother Cary's chick of the desert sits down by me and we
hold a conversationfest. It seems that he was money-poor. He'd lived
in ranch camps all his life; and he confessed to me that his supreme
idea of luxury was to ride into camp, tired out from a round-up, eat a
peck of Mexican beans, hobble his brains with a pint of raw whisky,
and go to sleep with his boots for a pillow. When this barge-load of
unexpected money came to him and his pink but perky partner, George,
and they hied themselves to this clump of outhouses called Atascosa
City, you know what happened to them. They had money to buy anything
they wanted; but they didn't know what to want. Their ideas of
spendthriftiness were limited to three--whisky, saddles, and gold
watches. If there was anything else in the world to throw away
fortunes on, they had never heard about it. So, when they wanted to
have a hot time, they'd ride into town and get a city directory and
stand in front of the principal saloon and call up the population
alphabetically for free drinks. Then they would order three or four
new California saddles from the storekeeper, and play crack-loo on the
sidewalk with twenty-dollar gold pieces. Betting who could throw his
gold watch the farthest was an inspiration of George's; but even that
was getting to be monotonous.

"Was I on to the opportunity? Listen.

"In thirty minutes I had dashed off a word picture of metropolitan
joys that made life in Atascosa City look as dull as a trip to Coney
Island with your own wife. In ten minutes more we shook hands on an
agreement that I was to act as his guide, interpreter and friend in
and to the aforesaid wassail and amenity. And Solomon Mills, which was
his name, was to pay all expenses for a month. At the end of that
time, if I had made good as director-general of the rowdy life, he was
to pay me one thousand dollars. And then, to clinch the bargain, we
called the roll of Atascosa City and put all of its citizens except
the ladies and minors under the table, except one man named Horace
Westervelt St. Clair. Just for that we bought a couple of hatfuls of
cheap silver watches and egged him out of town with 'em. We wound up
by dragging the harne