"What would be your guess on the price of that there, now?" says he, edging up. "Ah, let's leave such harrowin' details to the man that has to pay for it," says I. "No use in our gettin' the chilly spine over what's marked on the price ticket; that is, unless you're thinking of investin'," and as I tips him the humorous wink I starts to move off. But this wa'n't a case where I was to get out so easy. He comes right after me. "Excuse me, neighbor," says he; "but--but that's exactly what I was thinking of doing, if it wasn't too infernally expensive." "What!" says I, gazin' at him; for he ain't the kind of citizen you'd expect to find indulgin' in such foolishness. "Oh, well, don't mind my remarks. Go ahead and blow yourself. You want it for the missus, eh?" "Ye-e-es," he drawls; "for--for my wife. Ah--er--would it be asking too much of a stranger if I should get you to step in there with me while I find out the price?" "Why," says I, lookin' him over careful,--"why, I don't know as I'd want to go as far as---- Well, what's the object?" "You see," says he, "I'm sort of a bashful person,--always have been,--and I don't just like to go in there alone amongst all them women folks. But the fact is, I've kind of got my mind set on having that hat, and----" "Wife ain't in town, then?" says I. "No," says he, "she's--she isn't." "Ain't you runnin' some risks," says I, "loadin' up with a lid that may not fit her partic'lar style of beauty?" "That's so, that's so," says he. "Ought to be something that would kind of jibe with her complexion and the color of her hair, hadn't it?" "You've surrounded the idea," says I. "Maybe it would be safer to send for her to come on." "No," says he; "couldn't be done. But see here," and he takes my arm and steers me up the avenue, "if you don't mind talking this over, I'd like to tell you a plan I've just thought out." Well, he'd got me some int'rested in him by that time. I could see he wa'n't no common Rube, and them twinklin' little eyes of his kind of got me. So I tells him to reel it off. "Maybe you never heard of me," he goes on; "but I'm Goliah Daggett, from South Forks, Iowy." "Guess I've missed hearin' of you," says I. "I suppose so," says he, kind of disappointed, though. "The boys out there call me Gol Daggett." "Sounds most like a cussword," says I. "Yes," says he; "that's one reason I'm pretty well known in the State. And there may be other reasons, too." He lets out a little chuckle at that; not loud, you know, but just as though he was swallowin' some joke or other. It was a specialty of his, this smothered chuckle business. "Of course," he goes on, "you needn't tell me your name, unless----" "It's a fair swap," says I. "Mine's McCabe; Shorty for short." "Yes?" says he. "I knew a McCabe once. He--er--well, he----" "Never mind," says I. "It's a big fam'ly, and there's only a few of us that's real credits to the name. But about this scheme of yours, Mr. Daggett?"