That was on a Thursday, if I recollect right. Wal, say! fer the next two days, more things happened in that there town than'd ever happened in the hull _county_ afore. Ev'rybody that could rake, scrape, beg 'r borra was a-doin' it--so's they could buy. Friday, the postmaster got a big block from the real-estate gent; same day, kinda as a favour, the doc sold the ticket-agent two 'r three lots. I felt blamed sore 'cause _I_ didn't have no money to git in on some good deals. But I hung on to the "Lloyd Addition"--I wouldn't let _that_ git outen my hands. Aw, I ain't a-goin' to lie--I had the boom-fever bad as _any_body. Fact is, I had it _worse_. And who wouldn't--when gettin' that little gal depended on it? Saturday, Goldstone went plumb crazy. They was buyin' and sellin' back'ards and for'ards, this way and that way, in circles and cater-corners. From sun-up on, that real-estate shanty had half a dozen fellers in it all the time; more was over to the hotel, dickerin' with Porky; and a lot of others trailed up the parson and the doc. Nobody et 'cause they was too blamed _ex_cited. Nobody drunk 'cause they wouldn't spare the cash. The sun went down, and they kept on a-buyin'. And at midnight, the town went to bed--_rich!_ The day afterwards was Sunday. And I hope I may die if I ever fergit that Sunday! When the sun come up, as a story-book'd put it, Goldstone lay as calm and peaceful as a babe, 'cept where some poor devil of a cow-punch was gittin' along towards his bunk when he oughta been comin' outen it. But all else was O. K. Weather fine, ev'rybody well, thank y', and land so high it's a wonder the temper'ture wasn't gittin' low. But ain't it funny how quick things can change? First off, some of us boys went over to that real-estate hogan--and found the door open and the place stripped. Yas, ma'am; duds gone, pictures gone. Only the bench and the table left. "What struck _him?_" ast the postmaster, who was comin' by. "I guess," says a feller, careless, "--I guess he's moved into a better office, mebbe." "I reckon," agrees the postmaster. Then, his voice gittin' holler, like, "But ain't that the map of Goldstone, with a rip in it?" It was--tore clean in two! We wasn't anxious any. Just the same, we drifted over to the hotel. When we got to the door, we met the clerk comin' out. "Where's you' millionaire friend this mornin'?" we ast him. "Started fer Chicago last night." "What--what's that?" "Gone to raise more capital, I guess," says the clerk. "'Cause he didn't settle--is comin' back right off." Without nobody sayin' nothin' more, we all made up the street to the doctor's, the crowd growin' as we went along. Even after bein' knocked plumb flat with a sledge-hammer, we didn't know _yet_ what'd bit us. But they was another whopper a-comin'--the _doc_ wasn't to be found. "I think," says the postmaster, swallerin' hard, "that if we ast the parson----" Up pipes a kid. "The parson wasn't to Sunday school this mornin'."