“Thanks,” says he, after a look around. “Thanks, Henry. I was having a autymobilemare.” Just then in comes old man Whittaker. He looks around, sort of mad-like, and glares at me and Calamity. “They don’t seem to be here—gol dingle dangle it!” he yelps. Me and Calamity looks around and shakes our heads. “No,” says I. “They must a left.” “They never went alone!” he howls. “That fancy, lodge war-bonnet and them striped pants never went away alone. I reckon I got to kill somebody!” He slams the door, as he goes out, and Calamity looks at me. “What’s the matter with him?” he asks. “He never recognized me, and I’ve knowed Whittaker for years and years.” “Crazy,” says I. “He went crazy over fancy clothes. He don’t know anybody any more, Calamity.” “Pshaw! I knowed he wasn’t——” We hears a voice at the door, and I yells, “Come in!” and in ambles Pole Cat Perkins. He’s got a bundle under his arm, and he sets down on the bunk and grins at me and Calamity. “Huh-Hen, I’m after your permission,” says he. “You’ve got it, Pole Cat. What yuh going to do with it?” He unrolls that bundle and produces a yaller stove-pipe hat, dented and moth-eaten, and an old rusty sword. He balances that old hat on his ball-shaped head, and runs the sword along the palm of his left hand. “Do I qualify, Mister Peck?” he asks. “For certain places, Pole Cat. What’s the idea?” “Chuck gives me these habiliments and tells me that I’ll have to get your permission to lead the pe-rade tomorrow. I admires the chance so much that I ain’t lost no time in coming. Do I get it?” “Pole Cat,” says I, solemn-like, “you probably will. Let your judgment be your guiding star.” “Thanks, Henry. I bids yuh good afternoon.” “Better make it farewell,” says I. “Loco crop must be flourishing up here,” observes Calamity. “Some smells worse than others, Henry.” “This one is named after his associates,” says I, and just then somebody rides up to the door and I hears Harelip Hansen’s voice. “Get behind the bunk!” I hisses at Calamity. “If Harelip sees you up here he never will leave.” “Howdy, Henry,” says Harelip. “I’m glad to see yuh.” “I’m pleased to know that the sight of me makes folks glad,” says I. “What yuh got on your mind and under your arm?” He unrolls enough for me to see that he’s got Whittaker’s lodge clothes. “Chuck told me I could wear these at the front end of that pe-rade tomorrow, but I’d have to see you first.” “What do yuh reckon to have me do—dress yuh?” I asks, and he grins all over his homely face. “It’ll be all right, will it?” he asks, and I nods and replies: “You know best, Harelip. There’s a divinity that shapes our ends.” “Uh-huh. I gives you thanks, Henry.” “I’ll take ’em, Harelip,” says I. “I may never have any use for them, but it will be something to remember yuh by, old trailer.” I watches him climb on his flea-bitten cayuse, and jog off down the road. Calamity is looking over my shoulder, and as Harelip drifts out of sight he yelps: