ing from under it, all round, like a waterfall. It was a new
hat, but it looked as if it had had an argument with a dusty roadway.

Later information proved that appearances, so far as the hat was
concerned, were not deceptive.

Sol's trousers were tight and straining. They were turned up, high
above a pair of flaring yellow boots, displaying some four inches of
lavender socks. A red necktie, a walking stick, a huge red rose and a
pair of tan gloves completed the external extravaganza. Sol had
succeeded in getting one glove on his great ham-like hand, but the
other had proved too much for him and he carried it loosely in his
hand.

He strutted up and down in front of Phil, with a look of inordinate
pride on his big, porridge-soft, Simple Simon face.

Phil gaped in wonder, then, when he could restrain himself no longer,
he burst out laughing, much to the dandified Sol's disappointment.

"What's the matter?" he asked, straightening up.

This caused Phil to laugh the more.

"Why, Sol!--you're all dolled up something awful," he remarked.

"Well!--that's all right,--ain't it?"

"Sure thing,--go to it! Mr. Pederstone won't know you when you go up
to congratulate him on his victory."

"Ya!--Mr. Pederstone win. I pretty dam-glad. But that ain't any reason
why a fellow put on his fine clothes."

"What is it then, Sol? You might tell a fellow. You haven't come into
a fortune?"

"No such dam-luck as that! But this my birthday, Phil. I been
thirty-three years old to-day."

"Well now!--and I never knew." Phil reached and shook the big Swede's
big hand heartily. "Leave it there,--many happy returns, old man!"

Sol's good nature bubbled over, but his face took on a clouded
expression shortly after. "'Old man'!" he repeated. "Ya!--you right,
Phil, thirty-three, I soon, be old man and I not been got married yet.
If I wait two-three year more, nobody have me."

"Oh, go on, you old pessimist. You're a young fellow yet. There's lot
of time."

"Maybe--maybe not! Yesterday I think all pretty girl here soon be
snapped up. Gretchen Gilder, she get married to that slob Peters last
year, and Peters he no dam-good. I never ask Gretchen, or maybe I have
her now. I think she been too good. Peters he ask her and get her
right off. All them Johnson girls get married; five fine big girl too!
Now little Betty McCawl--you know little Irish girl--God bless me!--I
just been crazy for her. She go get married day before yesterday to
tha