"Perfect!" he muttered to himself; "absolutely perfect! Couldn't be better if I'd done it myself. And, oh Lordy, that necktie--that's the finishing stroke! Still, at that, it's a rotten shame--the poor kid!" He hurried across, overtaking the slumping figure, and as his hand fell in a friendly slap upon one drooped shoulder the transformed cowboy flinched and turned and looked on him with two sad eyes. "Howdy-do, sir," he said wanly. Then he braced himself and squared his back, and Mr. Gatling perceived--and was glad to note--that the youngster strove to take his heartache in a manly fashion. "Son," said Mr. Gatling, "from what I'm able to gather I'm not going to have you for a son-in-law after all. But that's no reason why we shouldn't hook up along another line. I've been watching you off and on ever since we got acquainted and more closely since--well, since about a week ago, and it strikes me you've got some pretty good stuff in you. I've been thinking of trying a little flier in the cattle game out here--had the notion in the back of my mind for quite a while but didn't spring it until I found the party that I figure could maybe run it right. Well, I think I've found him. You're him. If you think you'd like a chance to start in as foreman or boss or superintendent or whatever you call it and maybe work up into a partnership if you showed me you had the goods, why, we'll talk it over together at dinner. The womenfolks won't be down and we can sit and powwow and I'll give you my ideas and you can give me yours." "I'd like that fine, sir," said young Tripler. "Good boy! I'll keep you so busy you won't have time to brood on any little disappointment that you may be suffering from now.... Say, son, don't mind my suggesting something, do you? If I was you I'd skin out of these duds you've got on and climb back into your regular working clothes--somehow, you don't seem to match the picture the way you are now." "Why, you advised me to get 'em your own self, sir!" exclaimed the youth. "That's right, I did, didn't I? Well, maybe you had better keep on wearing 'em." A shrewd and crafty gleam flickered under his eyelids. "You see--yes--on second thoughts, I think I want a chance to get used to you in your stylish new outfit. Promise me you'll wear 'em until noon tomorrow anyhow?" "Yes, sir," said his victim obediently. Mr. Gatling winked a concealed deadly wink. A CLOSE SHAVE [Decoration] On a certain day the young governor--Gov. G. W. Blankenship--left the Executive Mansion and motored up to the State Penitentiary. As the car spun him north over good roads through the crisp morning air, he took stock of himself and of his past life and of his future prospects, nor had cause for disappointment or doubt regarding any one of these three. This was a fine large world--large yet cozy--and he gave it his unqualified indorsement while he rode along.