e way business is done in the city
nohow. It's always done at a side door, not at a front door, the way we
done it on the Yellow Bull--straight out, even-Stephen.

"I figure he starts that story to make that stock cheap. Well, the other
day I buy up a little of it, right cheap at that--not much; only a few
hundred thousand dollars. Now I figure that if it ever goes up for Old
Man Wisner it will go up some for me. I may buy some more of it. I don't
know as it is worth anything--maybe not; but it certainly would please
me if I could find some kind of a side game here where I couldn't make
no money. I'm bored, Curly," says he; "that's what's the matter with
me."

But still he came round again and again to the real center of our coming
to town--Bonnie Bell. Him and me could have had a good time, but we knew
perfectly well that she wasn't having no good time.

"Curly," says he, kind of frowning and his jaw working some, "she ain't
got a friend in this whole damn town."

"Listen at you!" says I to him. "What are you talking about? She has got
us, ain't she? We are her friends. We've raised her. We are going to
take care of her. Ain't that enough?"

"No, Curly," says he to me; "we ain't enough."

VII

WHAT THEIR HIRED MAN DONE

"Well," says Old Man Wright to Bonnie Bell one day about four o'clock
when we was having a cup of tea, which William insisted we ought to
drink then, "what have them folks over there said about the dog you sent
'em?"

"They haven't said a word," says Bonnie Bell. "They kept the dog though.
I don't think much of that outfit, if you ask me, dad," says she.

"Nor me neither," says he. "It was too bad you run over their dog, or so
many of their dogs; but then you done what you could, sending 'em
another dog as big as all you killed. A collie is right smart. I hope
this one will keep on the sidewalk and not get under the wheels. That
Boston dog of yours always has me guessing."

Well, we talked on a while, both of us sort of joshing her on her dog
deal, until she gets up and goes away from the little table where she is
setting and stands in front of the window, looking out, her teacup in
her hand. All at once she says:

"Good Lord!"

"What's wrong?" says her pa, and we all holler at her. But she is out of
the room and down at the door before we can stop her, all in her gingham
apern and cap, like she is then; for she had been looking after the
housecleaning--though William looks at h