t
anything better to do. Why, he even shows us how to dress! 'With a
touch,' he says, 'I work miracles. I transfer--transform you from
something dark an'--an' common into a thing of passion.' _Passion!_
What the hell does he know about passion? He's a doctor, he is, cuttin'
up a live dog to see what ails it. A live dog that's tied down! Cuttin'
it up--Oh, my God, I wish I was Buddy!" It was several moments after
the door of Allie's room had slammed behind her before Gus Briskow
spoke, and then it was with a deep sigh.

"I been afraid of something like this, Ma. I reckon we're goin' to pay
dear for our money before we get through."

"An' him with a princess in Wichita Falls!" the mother quavered.

CHAPTER XVIII

There are many arguments against industry; much is to be said against
its wholesale practice. For one thing, habitual diligence, of whatever
sort, begets other habits hard to break, habits that persist in
plaguing a man during his periods of indolence and perhaps during his
whole life. Early rising is one of the most annoying of these habits.
While it cannot be said that Tom Parker had ever labored arduously at
anything, nevertheless he had followed his calling faithfully, and the
peculiar exigencies of that calling had made of him a light and fitful
sleeper. He had so often used the earth as a mattress and his saddle as
a pillow, that sunup invariably roused him, and as a consequence he
liked to tell people that he could do with less sleep than any man in
Texas. That was, in fact, one of his pet complaints.

It was true that Old Tom never slept long, but it was also true that he
slept oftener than any man in Texas. He was up and dressed by daylight,
and until breakfast time he engaged himself in purposeless and noisy
pursuits. This futile energy, however, diminished steadily until about
nine-thirty, after which his day was punctuated by a series of cat
naps, as a broken sentence is punctuated by dots and dashes.

That small room at the rear of his office Barbara had cleared of its
dusty accumulations--of its saddles and saddle-bags, its rusty
Winchesters, its old newspapers and disorderly files--and had
transformed into a retreat for him. She had overcome his inherent
prejudice against innovations of any sort by arguing gravely that the
head of every firm should, nay must, have a private sanctum.

Tom approved of the change after he became accustomed to it, for he was
subjected to fewer irritating di