seem quite square,
somehow, way I acted. Good night. What time do you-all git up?"

"With the sun, soon's the big bell rings," said Sandy. "Good night."

She looked at them gravely and went out.

"Botherin' about playin' square in jumpin'," said Sandy. "That gel is
square on all twelve eidges. Sam, slide out an' muzzle that bell. She'll
likely cry herself to sleep after a bit but she'll need all the sleep
she can git. No sense in wakin' her up at sun-up."

"How'd you come to know so much about gels?" asked Mormon.

"Me? I don't know the first thing about 'em," protested Sandy.

"No more'n any man," put in Sam. "'Cept it's Mormon. He's sure had the
experience."

"Experience," said Mormon, with a yawn, "may teach a man somethin' about
mules but not wimmen. Woman is like the climate of the state of Kansas,
where I was born. Thirty-four below at times and as high as one-sixteen
above. Blowin' hot an' cold, rangin' from a balmy breeze through a rain
shower or a thunder-storm, up to a snortin' tornado. Average number of
workin' days, about one hundred an' fifty. Them's statistics. It ain't
so hard to set down what a woman's done at the end of a year, if you got
a good mem'ry, but tryin' to guess what she is goin' to do has got the
weather man backed off inter a corner an' squealin' for help. They ain't
all like Kansas. My first resembled it, the second was sorter
tropic--she run off with a rainmaker an' I hear she's been divorced
three times since then. Mebbe that's an exaggeration. My third must
have been born someways nigh the no'th pole. W'en she got mad she'd
freeze the blood in yore veins.

"No, sir, that feller in the po'try who says, 'I learned about wimmen
from 'er,' was braggin'. Now, this gel of Casey's 'pears like what her
dad 'ud call a good prospect, but you can't tell. Fool's gold is bright
enough but you can't change it to the real stuff no matter how you
polish it."

"Ever see the sour-milk batter Pedro fixes fo' hot cakes?" asked Sam.

"Sure I have. What's that got to do with it?" demanded Mormon.

"That's what you've got sloppin' inside of yore haid 'stead of brains.
Yore disposition concernin' wimmen is gen'ally soured. You 'mind me of
the man from New Jersey who come out west to buy a ranch. A hawss
throwed him five times hand-runnin'. He ropes a steer that happens to
run into the bum loop he was swingin' an' it snakes him out'n the
saddle. A pesky cow chases him when he was afoot, a couple ca