she could get her mind
off her trouble. When she got back, Henley made a dead set for her. But
while he got her, Dick, she never cared for him. I reckon you never
heard about what she done last summer."

"I haven't had a line from home in two years, Hank. She didn't quit 'im,
did she?--she didn't throw 'im clean over, after all, did she?" And
Wrinkle laughed expectantly as he pushed the bottle toward his
companion.

Bradley's eyes shone; the neck of the bottle in his unsteady hand
tinkled against the edge of the tumbler as he poured out another drink.

"No, but she come nigh to it. She drove him off to Texas, where he
pretended to have some business or other. Dick, she erected a monument
to you that cost a stack o' money. You can see it from the Chester
square, looming up like a ghost."

"The hell you say!"

"Not only that, but she sent off for a silver-tongued preacher and had
your funeral preached in bang-up style."

"Good Lord! What did she do that for?" Wrinkle groaned, and his mouth
set rigidly.

"Because the notion struck her," Bradley smiled. "She made a mark for
herself. She's the pride of all the women in that section. Whenever a
woman is accused of being changeable, your wife is pointed at to give it
the lie. You knew she was looking after your father and mother, didn't
you?"

"Yes, yes, you wrote about that," the barkeeper answered, his eyes
sullenly averted. "I thought she'd do something of the sort."

"And she has done it right, Dick; they are as rosy as two babies. Henley
makes plenty of money in one way and another, and he foots all her
bills, or did till--till--well, I haven't told you all the news yet.
Dick, neither one of us likes Henley. He's crossed me several times in
his high and mighty way, but he's got us both down now and he can sneer
at us all he wants to. No wind ever blowed that didn't blow profit to
him. You thought you was handing him a gold-brick when you left him your
wife, but, la me, Dick, you done him the biggest favor that one man ever
done another."

"What the hell you giving me?" Wrinkle raised a pair of wondering eyes
to Bradley's design-filled face, and fixed them there anxiously.

"Dick," Bradley toyed with the tumbler, turning it upside-down and
stamping rings of liquor on the table--"Dick, Ben Warren died and left
her every dollar of his estate. She's as rich as cream, and Henley--huh!
he's so stuck-up he can't walk. His lordly strut fairly shakes the
ground when