Bruce laughed. They talked in a desultory way until they had dressed. Then Bayard walked to the other side of the room where a sheet had been tacked and hung down over bulky objects. He pulled it aside and stood back that Tommy might see the clothing that hung against the wall. "How's that for raiment?" he demanded. Tommy approached and lifted the skirt of the black sack coat gingerly, critically. He turned it back, inspected the lining and then put his hand to his lips to signify shock. "Oh, my gosh, Bruce! Silk linin'! You'll be curlin' your hair next!" "Nothing too good for this fracus, Tommy. Best suit of clothes I could get made in Prescott. Those shoes--patent leather!" He picked up one and blew a fleck of dust from it carefully. "Cost th' price of a pair of boots an' don't look like they'd wear a mile." He reached into the pocket of the coat and drew out a small package, unrolling it to display a necktie. "Pearl gray, they call it, Tommy. An' swell as a city bartender's!" He waved it in triumph before the sparkling eyes of his pug-nosed friend. "Gosh, Bruce, you're goin' to be done out like a buck peacock, clean from your toes up. You-- "Say, what are you goin' to wear on your head?" Bayard's hand dropped to his side and a crestfallen look crossed his features. "I'm a sheepherder, if I didn't forget," he muttered. "Holy Smoke, Bruce, you can't wear an ordinary cowpuncher hat with them varnished shoes an' that there necktie an' that dude suit!" "I guess I'll have to, or go bareheaded." Tommy looked at him earnestly for he thought that this oversight mattered, and his simple, loyal heart was touched. "Never mind, Bruce," he consoled. "It'll be all right, prob'ly. She won't--" "You go out and make me a crown of mistletoe, Tommy. Why, she wouldn't like me not to be somethin' of my regular, everyday self. She'll like these clothes, but she'll like my old hat, too!" Tommy seemed to be relieved. "Yes, maybe she will," he agreed. "She's kinda sensible, Bruce. She ain't th' kind of a woman to jump her weddin' 'cause of a hat." Bayard, in a sudden ecstasy of animal spirits, picked the small cowboy up in his arms and tossed him toward the ceiling, as if he were a child, and stopped only when Tommy wound his arms about his neck in a strangling clasp. "Le'me down, an' le'me show you my outfit!" he cried. "Don't get stuck on yourself an' think you're goin' to be th' only city feller at this party!" Breathlessly Bayard laughed as he put him down and followed him to the bunk where he had slept with his war-bag for a pillow. Tommy seated himself, lifted the sack to his lap and, with fingers to his lips for silence, untied the strings. "Levi's!" he whispered, hoarsely, as he drew out a pair of brand new overalls and shook them out proudly. "I ain't a reg'lar swell like you are," he exclaimed, "but even if I am poor I wear clean pants at weddin's!" He groped in the bag again and drew out a scarf of gorgeous pink silk.