How we spent all that spring and summer I don't hardly see now. We was
the lonesomest people you ever seen. Old Man Wright he'd go over to his
new club once in a while and sometimes out to the stockyards, and
sometimes he'd fuss round at this or that. Bonnie Bell and me we'd go
riding once in a while when she wasn't busy, which was most of the time
now. She had a lot of talking to do with the folks that was building her
house and furnishing it--she never would tell me where it was.

Well, it got cold right early in the winter. It was awful cold, colder
than it gets in Wyoming. When it gets cold in Chicago the folks say:
"This certainly is most unusual weather!"--just like we do when there is
a blizzard out in Wyoming. Old Man Wright and me we thought we'd freeze,
because, you see, we had to wear overcoats like they had in the city,
and couldn't wear no sheep-lined coats like we would have wore on the
range.

"Well, you see," said Bonnie Bell when we complained to her, "when we
get our motor car running we won't have to walk. Nobody that amounts to
anything walks in the city. Our best people all have cars; so they don't
need sheepskin coats. Our car will be here any time now; so we can see
more of the city and be more comfortable than you can on horseback.
Nobody rides horseback except a few young people in the parks in the
summertime--I found that out."

"Don't our best people do that now?" ast her pa.

"Some, but not many," says she. "There's a good many people that wants
you to think they're the best people; but they ain't. You can always
tell them by the way they play their hands. Most of the people I've seen
riding in the parks is that sort--they want you to look at them when
they ride because they're perfectly sure they're doing what our best
people are doing. You can tell 'em by their clothes, whether they are
riding or walking. It's easy to spot them out."

"I wonder," says I, "if they can spot out your pa and me?"

She comes over and rumples up my hair like she sometimes did.

"You're a dear, Curly!" says she.

"I know that," says I; "but don't muss up my new necktie, for I worked
about a hour on that this morning, and at that it's a little on one side
and some low. But I'm coming on," says I.

Now, Old Man Wright, when he wore his spiketail coat, he had the same
trouble with his tie that I had with mine. He told his tailor about that
one time, but his tailor told him that the best people wore them