"The fact is, Your Honour," said the latter, ingratiatingly, "we have mislaid our trousers and left our money in the pockets. If you would be so kind as to loan us each a ten-spot until we have wages coming we shall feel greatly indebted to you." The Court vouchsafed a glance at them. Showing no surprise at their unusual costume, he said as he fumbled in the pocket of his waistcoat: "Such gall as yours should not go unrewarded. You pay your debts, and that's all the good I know of either of you. Now clear out--and if you show up for a month the officer here is to arrest you." He transferred two banknotes to the desk-drawer and went on with his scratching. "Gosh!" Pinkey lamented, as they stood outside clutching their quilts, "I wisht I knowed whur to locate them mackinaws. I got 'em in Lethbridge before I went to the army, and I think the world of 'em. I don't like 'poor-boys-serge,' but I guess I'll have to come to it, since I'm busted." "What's that?" Wallie asked, curiously. "Denim," Pinkey explained, "overalls. That makes me think of a song a feller wrote up: "A Texas boy in a Northern clime, With a pair of brown hands and a thin little dime. The southeast side of his overalls out-- _Yip-yip, I'm freezin' to death_!" "That's a swell song," Pinkey went on enthusiastically. "I wish I could think of the rest of it." "Don't overtax your brain--I've heard plenty. Let's cut down the alley and in the back way of the Emporium. Oh!" He gripped his quilt in sudden panic and looked for a hiding-place. Nothing better than a telegraph pole offered. He stepped behind it as Helene Spenceley passed in Canby's roadster. "Did she see me?" "Shore she saw you. You'd oughta seen the way she looked at you." Wallie, who was too mortified and miserable for words over the incident, declared he meant never again to come to town and make a fool of himself. "I know how you feel, but you'll git over it," said Pinkey, sympathetically. "It's nothin' to worry about, for I doubt if you ever had any show anyhow." Canby laughed disagreeably after they had passed the two on the sidewalk. "That Montgomery-Ward cowpuncher has been drunk again, evidently," he commented. "I wouldn't call him that. I'm told he can rope and ride with any of them." He looked at her quickly. "You seem to keep track of him." She replied bluntly: "He interests me." "Why?" curtly. Canby looked malicious as he added: "He's a fizzle." "He'll get his second wind some day and surprise you." "He will?" Canby replied, curtly. "What makes you think it?" "His aunt is a rich woman, and he could go limping back if he wanted to; besides, he has what I call the 'makings'." "He should feel flattered by your confidence in him," he answered, uncomfortably. "He doesn't know it." Canby said no more, but it passed through his mind that Wallie would not, either, if there was a way for him to prevent it. CHAPTER XV COLLECTING A BAD DEBT