ghtly varies
his invitation by saying, "so that I can return your dollars."

No one appears to observe this significant change, and as he has
hitherto returned the dollars precisely according to promise, he now
proceeds to his harvest. Having all his boxes out he abruptly closes the
lid of his box and calmly remarks, "I said, 'so that I _can_ return your
dollars,' I didn't say I would.--Gentlemen, I have the dollars and _you_
have the experience." He drops into his seat and takes up the reins to
drive away. A tall man who has been standing silently beside the wheel
of the carriage, snatches the whip from its socket, and lashes the
swindler across the face. Red streaks appear on his cheek.--The crowd
surges forward. Up from behind leaps a furious little Scotchman who
snatches off his right boot and beats the stranger over the head with
such fury that he falls from his carriage to the ground.--I rejoice in
his punishment, and admire the tall man who led the assault.--The
marshal comes, the man is led away, and the crowd smilingly scatters.--

We are on the way home. Only two of my crew are with me. The others are
roaring from one drinking place to another, having a "good time." The
air is soothingly clean and sweet after the tumult and the reek of the
town. Appalled, yet fascinated, I listen to the oft repeated tales of
just how Jim McCarty sprang into the saloon and cleaned out the brawling
mob. I feel very young, very defenceless, and very sleepy as I
listen.--

On Sunday, Burton usually came to visit me or I went over to his house
and together we rode or walked to service at the Grove school-house. He
was now the owner of a razor, and I was secretly planning to buy one.
The question of dress had begun to trouble us both acutely. Our best
suits were not only made from woolen cloth, they were of blizzard
weight, and as on week days (in summer) our entire outfit consisted of a
straw hat, a hickory shirt and a pair of brown denim overalls you may
imagine what tortures we endured when fully encased in our "Sunday
best," with starched shirts and paper collars.

No one, so far as I knew, at that time possessed an extra, light-weight
suit for hot-weather wear, although a long, yellow, linen robe called a
"duster" was in fashion among the smart dressers. John Gammons, who was
somewhat of a dandy in matters of toilet, was among the first of my
circle to purchase one of these very ultra garments, and Burton soon
followed his