When ole stingy Curry tried _his_ luck over, he took his lead from Chub's _ex_perience. Seems he put one arm 'round the kid, and then he said no man could kick about havin' to adopt Willie, and he knowed that with Mrs. Bridger it was "love me, love my dawg." Then he tacked on that the boy was a nice little feller, and likely didn't eat much. "And long's I ain't a-goin' to marry you," says the widda, "why, just think--you won't have to feed Willie at all!" But the next day we laughed on the other side of our face. I went down to Mrs. Bridger's, the sheriff trailin', (he balked half-way from the sand-pile to the door, this time, and sit down on a bucket t' play he was Willie's steam-injine), and I found that the little woman had been cryin' turrible. "What's the matter?" I ast. "Nothin'," she says. "Yas, they is. Didn't you git a dun t'-day?" "Wal," she answers, blushin', "I bought this place on tick. But," (brave as the dickens, she was) "I'll be able t' pay up all right--what with my chickens and the pig." I talked with her a good bit. Then me and the sheriff started back to town. (Had to go slow at first; Bergin'd helt the ingineer on his knee till his foot was asleep.) On the way, I mentioned that dun. "_Curry,_" says the sheriff. And he come nigh rippin' up the railroad tracks. He made fer Curry's straight off. "What's the little balance due on that Starvation Gap property?" he begun. "What makes you ast?" says Curry, battin' them sneaky little eyes of hisn. "I'm _pre_pared t' settle it." "But it happens I didn't sell to _you_. So, a-course, I cain't take you' money. Anyhow, I don't think the widda is worryin' much. She could git shet of that balance easy." And he moseyed off. She could git shet of it by marryin' _him,_ y' savvy--the polecat! The sheriff was boilin'. "Here, Cupid," he says, "is two hunderd. Now, we'll go down to Mrs. Bridger's again, and you offer her as much as she wants." "Offer it you'self." "No, _you_ do it, Cupid,--please. But don't you tell her whose money it is." "I won't. Here's where we git up The Ranchers' Loan Fund." I coaxed Bergin as far as the front step _this_ time. Wasn't that fine? But, say! Mrs. Bridger wouldn't touch a cent of that money, no ma'am. "If I was to take it as a loan," she says, "I'd have interest to pay. So I'd be worse off 'n I am now. And I couldn't take it in no other way. Thank y', just the same. And how's Miss Sewell t'-day?" It wasn't no use fer me to tell her that The Ranchers' Loan Fund didn't want no interest. She was as set as Rogers's Butte. During the next week 'r two, the sheriff and me dropped down to the widda's frequent. I'd talk to her--about chicken-raisin' mostly--whilst Bergin 'd play with the kid. One day I got him to come _as far as the door!_ But I never got him no further. There he stuck, and 'd stand on the sill fer hours, lookin' out at Willie--like a great, big, scairt, helpless calf.