tty little blind
Joolie wife, all y'ears an' lovin' int'rest, an' after what Nell an'
Missis Rucker has done said the gent who lacerates her feelin's is
lost. In sech a pinch Peets is our guidin' light.

"'Massive!' says Peets, after a pause.

"'Which she's shore a heap massive!' we murmurs, followin' Peets'
smoke.

"'An' sech atmosphere!' Peets goes on.

"'Atmosphere to give away!' we echoes.

"At these yere encomiyums the pore pleased face of little Joolie is
beamin' like the sun. As for Mike, he assoomes a easy attitoode, same
as though compliments means nothin' to him.

"'What's the subject?' Peets asks.

"'That, my friend, is the _Linden in October_,' returns Mike, as
though he's showin' us a picture of heaven's front gate. 'Yes, the
_Linden in October_.'

"'Which if this yere Pole,' whispers Texas to Cherokee, 'is able to
make anything out of that smear, he can shore see more things without
the aid of licker than any sport that ever spreads his blankets in
Cochise County.'

"Texas is a heap careful not to let either Mike or the little Joolie
girl ketch on to what he says.

"Also, it's worth recallin' that Mike an' the little Joolie is the
only wedded pa'r, of which the Southwest preeserved a record, that
don't bring bilious recollections to Texas of his former Laredo wife.

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE SUBJECT?" PEETS ASKS. "THAT, MY FRIEND, IS THE
'LINDEN IN OCTOBER,'" RETURNS MIKE, AS THOUGH HE'S A SHOWIN' US A PICTURE
OF HEAVEN'S FRONT GATE. p. 238.]

"'Not but what thar's a wrong thar, Doc,' he insists, the time Peets
mentions it; 'not but what this yere Red Mike-Joolie sityooation
harbors a wrong. Only it's onavailable to 'llustrate the illyoosage I
suffers at the hands of my Laredo wife.'

"After the _Linden_ Mike totes out mebby it's a dozen other smeary
squar's of canvas. We goes over 'em one by one, cockin' our eyes an'
turnin' our heads first one way an' then another, like a bloo jay
peerin' into a knothole. When Peets lets drive something about 'sky
effects,' an' 'fore-grounds,' an' 'middle-distance,' we stacks in all
sim'lar. Thar's nothin' to it; Mike an' the little Joolie girl puts in
a mighty pleasant hour.

"Mike, feelin' hospit'ble, an' replyin' to a thirsty look which Jack
Moore sort o' sheds about the room, reegrets he ain't got no whiskey.

"'My little Joolie objectin',' he explains.

"'Oh, well,' speaks up Peets, who's plumb eager to bring them art
studies to a wind-up, 'wh