ve and ready for war--for, Ned, me boy,
without love and war we'd miss the only two joys of life. Thereto, a
gintleman must shoot, fence, ride, dance, and do anny of 'em like a
gintleman. For outwardly appar'l, seein' him clane within, me boy, a
gintleman should make the best of what he finds about him. I have slept
sweet in turban or burnous in me time. Dress is nothing that we may
always control. But if ye found yeself a bit low in kit, as Batty is
this day, what would ye say, Ned, me boy, was the first salient--what is
the first essintial in the dress of a gintleman, me boy?"

"Linen," said Franklin, "or is it gloves?"

"Ned," said Battersleigh solemnly, laying a hand upon his shoulder,
"ye're the dearest boy in the world. Ye're fit to be lance sergeant
yersilf in the ould Tinth Rigiment. Right ye are, quite right. White,
white, me boy, is the first colour of a gintleman! White, to show the
integrity of his honour and the claneness of his merit roll. Shure, he
must have his weapons, and his horse--for a gintleman always rides--and
his hat and gloves are matter of course. But, first of all, essintial to
him as the soap and crash, is white, sir--yes, white! A touch of white
at neck and wrist anny gintleman must show who presints himself at a
ball."

"But, now, how?"

Battersleigh pointed a long finger at Franklin, then turned it upon
himself, tapping with import upon his forehead. "Look at me, at Batty,"
he said. "Here is where gaynius comes in, me friend. I may be far from
the home that bore me--God prosper them that knows it now!--and I may be
a bit behind with me allowance; but never yet was Batty without the arms
and the appar'l of a gintleman. Ned, come with me."

Grasping his companion by the arm, Battersleigh stepped outside the
house, and strode off with long steps across the prairie. "Come," he
said, as one who commanded alike secrecy and despatch. Humouring him,
Franklin followed for a quarter of a mile. Then, bending his gaze in the
direction of the march, he saw afar, fluttering like a signal of distress
in the engulfing sea about, a little whipping flag of white, which was
upheld by the gaunt hand of a ragged sage bush. This, as he drew near,
he discovered to be a portion of an old flour sack, washed clean and left
bleaching in the sun and wind until it had assumed a colour a shade more
pure than its original dinginess.

Battersleigh made dramatic approach. "There!" said he, poin