est they
might as well come along here; and they said all right--as long as they
was wanting to go out West anyway, why, they might as well come along
with her as with anybody else.

And that Chink would mighty soon find out if Little Sure Shot wasn't the
real Peruvian doughnuts, because that old murderer would sure have him
hard to find, come sundown; still, he was glad he had come along with
the madam, because back there it wasn't any job for you, account of
getting too fat for the uniform, with every one giving you the laugh
that way--and they wouldn't get you a bigger one--.

I left Boogies then, though he seemed not to know it. His needle worked
swiftly on the red one he was making for the madam, and his aimless,
random phrases seemed to flow as before; but I knew now where to apply
for the details that had been too many for his slender gift of
narrative.

At four that afternoon Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill, accompanied by one
Buck Devine, a valued retainer, rode into the yard and dismounted. She
at once looked searchingly about her. Then she raised her voice, which
is a carrying voice even when not raised: "You, Jimmie Time!"

Once was enough. The door of the bunk house swung slowly open and the
disgraced one appeared in all his shameful panoply. The cap was pulled
well down over a face hopelessly embittered. The shrunken little figure
drooped.

"None of that hiding out!" admonished his judge. "You keep standing
round out here where decent folks can look at you and see what a bad
boy you are."

With a glance she identified me as one of the decent she would have
edified. Jimmie Time muttered evilly in undertones and slouched forward,
head down.

"Ain't he the hostile wretch?" called Buck Devine, who stood with the
horses. He spoke with a florid but false admiration.

Jimmie Time, snarling, turned on him: "You go to--."

I perceived that Lew Wee the night before had delicately indicated by a
mere initial letter a bad word that could fall trippingly from the lips
of Jimmie.

"Sure!" agreed Buck Devine cordially. "And say, take this here telegram
up to the corner of Broadway and Harlem; and move lively now--don't you
stop to read any of them nickel liberries."

I saw what a gentleman should do. I turned my back on the piteous figure
of Jimmie Time. I moved idly off, as if the spectacle of his ignominy
had never even briefly engaged me.

"Shoot up a good cook, will you?" said the lady grimly. "I'll giv