ld
days I used to shut my eyes and project my soul into what I imagined was
the future. I saw Arizona, embottled, dying in the last-wet ditch, while
all the rest of the world, even including Milwaukee, bore down on her
carrying the banners of Prohibition. So much for prophecy. I voiced a
thought.

"There must be an awful lot of old timers died this spring. You can't
cut them off short and hope to save them."

Bill grunted.

We entered the store. It smelled good, as such stores always do--soap,
leather, ground coffee, bacon, cheese--all sorts of things. On the right
ran a counter and shelves of dry goods and clothing; on the left
groceries, cigars, and provisions generally. Down the middle saddles,
ropes, spurs, pack outfits, harness, hardware. In the rear a glass
cubby-hole with a desk inside. All that was customary, right and proper.
But I noticed also a glass case with spark plugs and accessories; a rack
full of tires; and a barrel of lubricating oil. I did not notice any
body polish. By the front door stood a paper-basket whose purport I
understood not at all.

Bill led me at once past two or three lounging cow persons to the
cubbyhole, where arose a typical old timer.

"Mr. White, meet Mr. Billings," he said.

The old timer grasped me firmly by the right hand and held tight while
he demanded, as usual, "What name?" We informed him together. He allowed
he was pleased. I allowed the same.

"I want to buy a yard of calico," said Bill.

The old timer reached beneath the counter and produced a strip of cloth.
It was already cut, and looked to be about a yard long. Also it showed
the marks of loving but brutal and soiled hands.

"Wrap it up?" inquired Mr. Billings.

"Nope," said Bill, and handed out three silver dollars. Evidently calico
was high in these parts. We turned away.

"By the way, Bill," Mr. Billings called after us, "I got a little
present here for you. Some friends sent her in to me the other day. Let
me know what you think of it."

We turned. Mr. Billings held in his hand a sealed quart bottle with a
familiar and famous label.

"Why, that's kind of you," said Bill, gravely. He took the proffered
bottle, turned it upside down, glanced at the bottom, and handed it
back. "But I don't believe I'd wish for none of that particular breed.
It never did agree with my stummick."

Without a flicker of the eye the storekeeper produced a second sealed
bottle, identical in appearance and label with the