there box?"

No one came forward.

"Ain't there none of you boys that can play on a pianny?" he demanded.

"I've played on the big square one down at the Lone Star," gravely
piped up Show Low.

"What did you play," asked the inquisitive Polly.

"Poker," answered Show Low seriously, his face showing no trace of
humor.

"Poker!" Polly repeated, in disgust.

"That's all they ever plays on it," explained Show Low indignantly.

Polly grew impatient. This presentation was a serious affair and not
to be turned into an audience for the exploitation of Show Low's
adventures. Moreover, she did not like to be used even indirectly as a
target for fun-making, although she delighted in making some one else a
feeder for her ideas of fun.

Fresno modestly announced he was something of a musical artist.

"I 'low I can shake a tune out of that," he declared.

"Let's hear you," cried Polly, rather doubtful of Fresno's ability.

"Step up, perfesser," cried Allen heartily, slapping him on the back.

Fresno grinned and solemnly rolled up his sleeves. His comrades eyed
his every move closely. He spat on his hands, approached the piano,
and glared fiercely at the keyboard.

"My ma had one of them there things when I was a yearlin'," he observed.

Fresno spun the seat of the piano-stool until it almost twirled off the
screw. His actions created greatest interest, especially to
Parenthesis, who peered under the seat, to see the wheels go round.
Fresno threw his leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.

"Well, boys, what'll you have?" he asked, glancing from one to the
other in imitation of the manner of his friend, the pianist in the
Tucson honkytonk, on a lively evening.

"The usual poison," absently answered Show Low.

Sage-brush struck him in the breast with the with the back of his hand.
"Shut up," he growled.

Turning to Fresno, he said: "Give us the--er--'The Maiden's Prayer.'"

Fresno whisked about so quickly that he almost lost his balance. Gazing
at the petitioner in blank amazement, he shouted: "The what?"

Sage-brush blushed under his tan. In a most apologetic voice he said:
"Well, that's the first tune my sister learned to play, an' she played
it continuous--which is why I left home."

"I'd sure like to oblige you, but Maiden's Prayers ain't in my
repetory," explained the mollified musician.

Fresno raised his finger uncertainly over the keyboard searching for a
key from which to make a start. Th