e front
with our wholesale department (of course--ha! ha! my wife's father
ought to know how I'm getting on), so you're welcome to look over my
books. Our trade is a cash trade so far as our retail trade goes, and
we're mighty careful who gets tick from us on the wholesale trade.
We're developing a great business."

Bert and Anson made no replies to his chatter, and he pattered along by
Anson's side like a small boy, showing them the town and its beauties.
Anson inwardly despised the little man, but held it a sort of treason
to think so, and tried to look upon him kindly.

The wedding took place in the house of the Holt family, and was in
charge of Miss Holt, Elga's teacher. Kendall's parents could not be
present, which was a great disappointment to Elga, but Will was
secretly glad of it. His father was a very crusty and brutal old
fellow, and he would not have fitted in smoothly beside Bert and Anson,
who were as uncomfortable as men could well be. Both wished to avoid
it, but dared not object.

Anson stood bravely through the ceremony as the father of the bride,
and bore himself with his usual massive, rude dignity. But he inwardly
winced as he saw Elga, looking very stately and beautiful in her
bride's veil, towering half a head above the sleek-haired little clerk.
Not a few of the company smiled at the contrast, but she had no other
feeling than perfect love and happiness.

When the ceremony was over and Anson looked around for Bert, he was
gone. He couldn't stand the pressure of the crowd and the whispered
comments, and had slipped away early in the evening.

Among the presents which were laid on the table in the dining-room was
a long envelope addressed to Mrs. Will Kendall. It contained a deed for
a house and lot in one of the most desirable parts of the suburbs. It
was from Gearheart, but there was no other written word. This gift
meant the sale of his claim in Dakota.

When Anson got back to the hotel that night, wondering and alarmed at
his partner's absence, he found a letter from him. It was savage and
hopeless.

This climate is getting too frigid for my lungs. I'm going to
emigrate to California. I made a mistake: I ought to have gone in
for stand-up collars, shiny hair, and bow-legs. You'd better skip
back to Dakota and sell your claim. Keep my share of the stock and
tools; it ain't worth bothering about. Don't try to live there
alone, old man. If you can't sell, marry. Don