pite of her driver's remonstrances, unheard because of the
nonadjustment of the trumpet, she reached under the seat and brought out
the pile of Blazeton weeklies. With her feet upon the pile to keep
it from blowing away, she proceeded to unfold one of the papers. It
crackled and snapped in the wind like a loose mainsail.

"Keep that dratted thing out of my face, won't you?" shrieked the
agonized Bailey. "How'm I goin' to see to steer with that smackin' me
between the eyes every other second?"

"Hey? Did you speak to me?" asked the widow sweetly.

"Did I SPEAK? No, I screeched! What in tunket--"

"I want you to see this picture of the mayor's house in Blazeton. Eva,
my husband's niece, lives right acrost the road from him. Many's the
time I've set on their piazza and seen him come out and go to the City
Hall."

"Keep it out of my face, I tell you! Reef it! Furl it, you--you woman! I
wish to thunder the piazza had caved in on you! I never see such an old
fool in my born days. TAKE IT AWAY!"

Mrs. Beasley removed the paper, but only to substitute another.

"Here's Eva's brother-in-law," she screamed. "He's one of the prominent
business men out there, so they put him in the paper. Ain't he nice
lookin'?"

Bailey's comments on the prominent business man's appearance were
anything but flattering. Debby continued to reach for more papers,
carefully replacing those she had inspected in the pile beneath her
feet. The wind blew as hard as ever; even harder, for it was now almost
dead ahead. Henry plodded along. They were in the hollow at the foot of
the last long hill, that from which the blacksmith shop had first been
sighted.

"I know what I'll do," declared the passenger. "I'll hunt for that
missin' husband advertisement of Desire Higgins's. Let's see now! 'Twill
be down at the bottom of the pile, 'cause the paper it's in is a last
year one."

She bobbed down behind the high dashboard. Mr. Bangs stood up in order
that her gymnastics might interfere, to a lesser degree, with his
driving. The equipage began to move up the slope of the hill, bouncing
and twisting in the frozen ruts.

"Here 'tis!" exclaimed Debby. "I remember it's in this number, 'cause
there's a picture of the Palace Hotel on the front page. Let's see--'Dog
lost'--no, that ain't it. 'Corner lot for sale'--wish I had money enough
to buy it; I'd like nothin' better than to live out there. 'Information
wanted of my husband'--Here 'tis! Um--hum!"

She