an ox teamster for the drive"--he dwelt on oxen for the drive
with much humorous effect--"without being sure that he can drive oxen.
It would be blasted aggravating to have our drive hung up and the oxen
all willing enough to pull it along, and then find out that the teamster
was no good."

Martin Brophy, tavernkeeper, was on the porch, enjoying the events that
were staged in front of his place that day.

"Hey, Martin, isn't there a gad in the cultch under your office desk?"

"Most everything has been left there, from an umbrella to a clap o'
thunder," admitted Brophy. "I'll look and see."

"Better not go to fooling too much, Ben," warned the master. "I've seen
fooling spoil good business a lot of times."

It was rebuke in the hearing of many men who were showing keen zest in
what might be going to happen; it was treating a right-hand man like a
child. Kyle resented it and his tone was sharp when he replied that he
knew what he was doing. He turned away from the glaring eyes of the
master and took in his hand the goad which Brophy brought.

There was a sudden tautness in the situation between Flagg and Kyle, and
the crowd noted it. The master was not used to having his suggestions
flouted.

The boss thrust the goad into the hand of the bashful fellow. "There's a
hitchpost right side of you, my man. Make believe it's a yoke of oxen.
What are your motions and your style of language in getting a start. Go
to it!"

The teamster swished the goad in beckoning fashion after he had rapped
it against the post in imitation of knocking on an ox's nose to summon
attention. His efforts to vault lingually over the first "double-u"
excited much mirth. Even the corners of Flagg's mouth twitched.

"Wo, wo hysh! Gee up, Bright! Wo haw, Star!" Such was the opening
command.

"They don't hear you," declared Kyle. "Whoop 'er up!"

The teamster did make a desperate effort to drive his imaginary yoke of
oxen. He danced and yelled and brandished the goad as a crazy director
might slash with his baton. He used up all his drive words and
invective.

Kyle could not let the joke stop there after the man had thrown down the
goad, wiped his forehead, and declared that it wasn't fair, trying to
make him start a hitching post.

"Pick up your gad," commanded the boss. He dropped on his hands and
knees. "Now you show us what you can do. I'm a yoke of oxen."

"You ain't."

"I tell you I am. Get busy. Start your team."

"That's about e