house and shops, the
sight of gilded cages, gaudily decorated cars, and converted Pullmans
that were second-class-tourist equipment painted white, did not assuage
his feelings; neither was there enchantment for him in the roars of
multifarious beasts, nor in the hybrid smells that assailed his
nostrils from the general direction of the menagerie. Flannagan, for
an hour's loss of sleep, with heartiness and abandon, consigned that
particular circus, also all others and everything thereunto pertaining,
from fangless serpents to steam calliopes, to regions that are
popularly credited with being somewhat warmer than the torrid zone on
the hottest day in mid-summer. But then--Flannagan did not know.

Opinions differ. Flannagan was about the last man on earth that any
one on the Hill Division would have picked out for a marrying man; and,
equally true the other way round, about the last man they would have
picked out as one a pretty girl would want to marry. With her, maybe,
it was the strength of the man, since they say that comes first with
women; with him, maybe, it was just the trim little brown-eyed,
brown-haired figure that could ride with the grace of a fairy. Anyway,
the only thing about it that didn't surprise any one was the fact that,
when it came, it came as sudden and quick as a head-on smash around a
ninety-degree curve. That was Flannagan's way, for Flannagan, if he
was nothing else, was impulsive.

That night Flannagan cursed the circus; the next day he saw Daisy
MacQueen riding in the street parade and--but this isn't the story of
Flannagan's courtship, not but that the courtship of any man like
Flannagan would be worth the telling--only there are other things.

At first, Big Cloud winked and chuckled slyly to itself; and then, when
the circus left and Flannagan got a week off and left with it, it
guffawed outright--but when, at the end of that week, Flannagan brought
back Mrs. Flannagan, _nee_ Daisy MacQueen, Big Cloud stuck its tongue
in its cheek, wagged its head and waited developments.

This is the story of the developments.

Maybe that same impulsiveness of Flannagan's, that could be blind and
bullheaded, coupled with a passion that was like a devil's when
aroused, was to blame; maybe the women of Big Cloud, following the lead
of Mrs. MacAloon, the engineer's wife and the leader of society
circles, who shook her fiery red head and turned up her Celtic nose
disdainfully at Daisy MacQueen, had s