"Help?" they says. (Quartette again.) "Why, yas. Don't you think, about this time, that Chicago 'd look pretty good to you?" "Chicago!" says Porky, low and wistful, like he didn't never expect to see the place again. "And hittin' the ties, fer two dudes like the agent, here, and the parson----" "Parson be hanged!" says the last named gent, ugly as the dickens. "I hope not," I goes on, "but you never can tell what the boys'll do." The doc was standin' up. As I said that, he come down kerplunk onto a bench, like as if a spring 'd give way in his laigs. "Lloyd," he says, "we--we--we're willin' to go, but we ain't got no money." "You're what I'd call land-poor," I says. "You need four tickets--wal, now, you own that Andrews chunk, don't y'?" "Lloyd," says the real-estate feller, "you've got the dead wood on us, ole man." He picked up one of them deeds from the table. "Git us the tickets," he says, "and here's the Andrews property." "A up-freight goes by in twenty minutes," I says. And started fer the station. "Lloyd!" calls Porky after me, "think you could spare us a' extra twenty fer grub?--_you_ don't want us to starve, Lloyd. And--and mebbe you could use the rest of these deeds." I come back. "Twenty?" I says; "I'll make it fifty fer luck." They was tears in that fake parson's eyes. "Lloyd," he says, "if I really _was_ a preacher, I'd pick you fer a saved man." Later on, when I walked into Dutchy's thirst-parlour, the boys was on hand, waitin' patient. As they ketched sight of me, they hollered some. "My friends," I says, "this is where I stand treat. But it ain't licker this tune, _no,_ ma'am; I'm presentin' hunderd-foot lots." So out I drawed my little bunch of deeds and handed one to each feller. Bergin got the Observatory site and the City Park; Rawson, the University grounds; Hairoil, the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank block; Chub, the Court House; Sam Barnes, the spot fer the Grand Op'ra House, and Billy Trowbridge, the land fer the Deef, Dumb and Blind Asylum. Then I slid. Ten minutes, and my pinto bronc was a-kitin' fer the Bar Y ranch-house. Turnin' in at the gate, I seen a light in the sittin'-room winda. I dropped the reins over Maud's haid and hoofed it up onto the porch. And inside, there was Macie, a-settin' in her rocker in front of the fire. On the other side was the President of the Briggs City Pott'ry Works. "Boss," I says, as I shook hands with him, "Boss, I've come fer you' little gal." Say! it took him quick, like a stitch in the side. "Fer my gal?" he kinda stammers. "Why--why, Alec,----" she whispers to me. "Sewell," I goes on, "when I ast you fer her, a while back, you said, 'Git a piece of land as big as the Andrews chunk.' Wal," (I handed out my deed) "would you mind lookin' at this?" "It's yourn!" The ole man put his hands to his haid. "Also," I says, rattlin' the little stack of twenties in my right-hand britches pocket, "I'm fixed t' git some cows; fifty 'r so--a start, boss, just a start."