ing down
to wade in the creek."

A particularly high-pitched set of giggles followed this tremendous
joke, and Billy, his timid scruples finally overcome, went across the
street, a ridiculous figure with his ancient body and his youthful
clothes. Nevertheless, Wallingford felt just a trifle lonesome as he
watched his traveling companions of the afternoon go sauntering down
the street in company which, if silly, was at least human. While he
regretted Broadway, Bob Ranger, dressed no whit different from his
attire of the afternoon, except that his sleeves were rolled down,
came out of the hotel and stood for an undecided moment in front of
the door.

"Hello, Bob!" hailed Wallingford cordially, glad to see any face he
knew. "Do you smoke?"

"Reckon I do," said Bob. "I was thinkin' just this minute of walkin'
down to Bud Hegler's for some stogies."

"Sit down and have a cigar," offered Wallingford, producing a
companion to the one he was then enjoying.

Bob took that cigar and smelled it; he measured its length, its
weight, and felt its firmness.

"It ain't got any band on it, but I reckon that's a straight
ten-center," he opined.

"I'll buy all you can get me of that brand for a quarter apiece,"
offered Wallingford.

"So?" said Bob, looking at it doubtfully. "I reckon I'd better save
this for Sunday."

"No, smoke it now. I'll give you another one for Sunday," promised
Wallingford, and he lit a match, whereupon Bob, biting the end off the
cigar with his strong, white teeth, moistened it all over with his
tongue to keep the curl of the wrapper down.

With vast gratification he sat down to enjoy that awe-inspiring cigar,
and, by way of being entertaining, uttered comment upon the passing
parade--frank, ingeniously told bits of personal history which would
have been startling to one who had imbibed the conventional idea that
all country folk are without guile. Wallingford was not so much
shocked by these revelations, however, as he might have been, for he
had himself been raised in a country town, though one not so small as
Blakeville.

It was while Bob was in the midst of this more or less profane history
that Molly and Fannie Bubble came out of the gate.

"Come here, Molly," invited Bob; "I want to introduce you to a
friend of mine. He's going to stop here quite a long time. Mr.
Wallingford--Molly; Miss Bubble--Mr. Wallingford. Come on; let's
all take a walk," and confidently taking Molly's arm he started u