“Why,” Winfield had said to him, “you are clean left out of this deal, aren’t you?” “Of course I am,” said Dick. “How am I going to marry a poor girl on a hundred dollars a month?” “I might set you up for yourself—” began his employer. “Hold on!” broke in Dick Cutter, with emphasis. “You wouldn’t talk that way if you’d ever been hungry yourself. I ’most starved that last time I tried for myself; and I’d starve next trip, sure. You’ve been a good friend to me, Jack Winfield. Don’t you make a damn fool of yourself and spoil it all.” “But,” he added, after a pause, “I _have_ a little racket of my own. There’s a widow in New York who smiled on yours affectionately once, ere she wed Mammon. I’m going just to see if she feels inclined to divide the late lamented’s pile with a blonde husband.” So, the business at Tusculum being determined, and preparations for the hegira well under way, Dick went to look after his own speculation. He reached New York on Tuesday morning, and called on the lady of his hopes that afternoon. She was out. He wrote to her in the evening, asking when he might see her. On Thursday her wedding–cards came to his hotel by special messenger. He cursed his luck, and went cheerfully about attending to a commission which Miss Euphrosyne, after much urging, had given him, trembling at her own audacity. The size of it had somewhat staggered him. She asked him to take an order to a certain large dry–goods house for nine traveling ulsters, (ladies’, medium weight, measurements enclosed,) for which he was to select the materials. “Men have so much taste,” said Miss Euphrosyne. “Papa _always_ knew when we were well dressed.” Dick had to wait while another customer was served. He stared at her in humble admiration. It was a British actress, recently imported. * * * * * When Mr. Richard Cutter sat on the platform of Tusculum station and saw his nine charges approach, ready for the long trip to the Far West, it struck him that the pinky–dun ulsters with the six–inch–square checks of pale red and blue did not look, on these nine virgins, as they looked on the British actress. It struck him, moreover, that the nine “fore–and–aft,” or “deer–stalker” caps which he had thrown in as Friendship’s Offering only served to more accentuate a costume already accentuated. But it was too late for retreat. The Baileys had burned their bridges behind them. The old house was sold. Their lot was cast in Montana. He had his misgivings; but he handed them gallantly into the train—it was not a vestibule express, for economy forbade—and they began their journey. He had an uneasy feeling that they were noticed; that the nine ladies in the ulsters of one pattern—and of the pattern of his choosing—were attracting more attention than any ladies not thus uniformed would have attracted; but he was not seriously disturbed until a loquacious countryman sat down beside him.