"Did you try to talk to him?" "Yes," said Simpson ruefully. "He kicked me out and was chasin' after me when I slammed the door on him. He's blind crazy loaded. I fu'st seen him after number nine pulled in, so I think he come on her. He was mutterin' and shakin' his fist when he hove in sight. I got him and steered him into the jug without much trouble, and it was only a hour ago that he started this ragin' and ravin'." As they entered the jail, sounds of tramping feet and mutterings reached their ears. Bill's swollen, blotched face and reddened eyes appeared behind the grating. "Let me out of here!" he shouted. "You'll get a broken head for this, you old mule." He shook the grating furiously. "Bill," said Jap slowly, "do you want to come with me, or do you want me to stay here with you till you've had a bath and a good sleep?" Bill laughed discordantly. "A sleep! A sleep!" he cried. "Yes, a long, long sleep. As soon as you take me out of this hell-hole, I'll take a sleep that'll last." Jap opened the door and stepped inside. "Don't come any nearer," warned Bill. "I'm too filthy, Jap. But let me stay as I am till it's over." He sat down on the cot and stared crazily into the corridor. Jap sat down beside him and drew his arm around his shoulder, with the tenderness of a woman. "Tell me about it, Bill, boy," he counselled gently. "Tim, you may leave us." Bill sat a long time, staring sullenly at the floor. "Well, this is a hell of a display for me to bring to Bloomtown," he declared at last. "I should have ended it in Jones's town. If I hadn't been so dumb with rotgut that I didn't know what I was doing, I would be furnishing some excitement for the Bartonites this morning. The finest place in the world to die in--it isn't fit to live in." Jap shook him briskly. "Straighten up, Bill, and tell me what kind of a mess you have been in." Bill laughed wildly. After a moment he dragged a letter from his pocket. Jap read: "When you read this, I will be the wife of Wilfred Jones, the Editor of the Barton _Standard_. Maybe you will be pleased? I prefer to marry a real editor, not the half of Jap Herron." The letter was signed, "Rosalie," but the affectation carried none of the elements of a disguise. To Jap it was the crowning insult. Crushing the silly note in his hand, he threw it from him. Standing up, he drew Bill to his feet. "We are going home," he said curtly. "When you are sober I will tell you how disappointed I am in my brother." The news that Bill had been jilted spread over Bloomtown like fire in a stubble-field, and deep resentment greeted the announcement that Jones of the _Standard_ had scored another notch against the _Herald_.