t him. His splendid grit
and driving made it possible for our friend to play his hand so well."

"Hurrah for Bill!" cried Silent, leaping to his feet with the others. When
seated again he looked quickly at his glass and turned to Bud.

"Real sweet cider!" he exulted. "Good Lord, but how time gallops past!
I'd almost forgotten what it was like! It's been over twenty years since I
tasted any! Ain't it fine?"

"I was wondering what it was," remarked Humble, a trace of awe in his
voice as he refilled his glass. "It's shore enough sweet cider, and blamed
good, too!"

Charley was romping with the mail carrier and he had a sudden inspiration:
"Speech from Joe! Speech for the pieces of pie and cake he's due to get!"

"Now, look here, boy," Joe gravely replied. "I'm the mail carrier. I
don't have to go on jury duty, lead religion round-ups, go to war or make
speeches. As the books say, I'm exempt. All I have to do is punch cows,
rustle the mail and eat pie and cake once a week," he said, glancing
at Bud, who glared and groaned.

"Good boy, Joe!" cried Humble, waving his glass excitedly. "You're shore
all right, you are, and I'm your deputy, ain't I?"

"No, not my deputy, but my delirium," corrected Joe.

"Glory be!" cried Silent as his plate was passed to him. "Chicken, real
chicken! Mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and dressing and gravy! And
here comes stewed corn, boiled onions and jelly and mother's bread. And
stewed tomatoes? Well, well! I guess we ain't going to be well fed, and
real happy, eh, fellows? My stomach won't know what's the matter--it'll
think it died and went to heaven by mistake. Holy smoke! It hurts my
eyes. What, cranberry jam? Well, I'm just going to close my eyes for a
minute if you don't mind; I want to recuperate from the shock. This is
where I live again!"

Humble stared in rapture at the feast before him and finally heaved a long
drawn sigh of doubt and content.

"Gee!" he cried softly, a far-away look in his eyes. "Look at it, just
look at it! Just like I used to get when I was a little tad back in
Connecticut--but that was shore a long time ago. Well," he exclaimed,
bracing up and bravely forgetting his boyhood, "there's one thing I hope,
and that is that Lee beats my dog. Then I can shoot him and get square
for all these years of imitation grub what he's handed out to me!"

"Hey, Tom!" eagerly cried Charley, "why can't we handle a herd of chickens
out on the ranch, and have a garden? Why