Percival stepped forward, blinking in the strong light. Dog, swallowing hard, strode toward him and shook hands with a heartiness at which the visitor cried out. “My partner, Ducky Spence,” said Dog. Percy nodded, his right hand safely behind his back. Ducky went for the bags, and presently returned, staggering. “Don’t forget that mail-order stuff,” Duke Envers bawled to Dog, climbing back over the freight. “It’s here in the hind end. I’ll hand it down. Looks like a washing-machine to me.” He handed it down, and Dog carried it to the Ford, lifted it over the side and snugged it in, between the back and front seats, on top of sundry supplies. The stranger and Ducky followed, Ducky swaying under the grips, his legs moving with that strange waddle which had given him his moniker. Dog lifted the grips, plunking them down on the back seat, which they completely filled. “Maybe we better eat first,” he suggested. “It’s a good forty mile, and the road’s a bit rough in spots. What do you say?” This last to nephew Percival. “What does it matter? What does anything matter?” squeaked Percival. Dog looked at him, looked at Ducky. Ducky looked at Percival, looked at Dog. It was worse than they had feared. “Well, if you don’t want to eat, what do you want to do?” Dog asked. “I want to go back.” Dog grabbed him by the arm. “That’s the one place you don’t go. We eat.” He lead the Easterner across the street to the Ideal Cafe, Ducky following, sundry acquaintances staring. They mounted stools at the counter. “Ducky and I are having ham and eggs. How about you?” Percival shivered,--perhaps shuddered,--gazing straight into the fly-specked mirror of the back bar. “I think I shall just have some thin toast, without butter, some bar-le-duc jelly and a pot of oolong tea, very weak.” Red Leonard, cook and waiter, treated himself to half a snigger. The second half died at the look Dog gave him. “That makes three ham and eggs, Red,” Dog said, “with some fried potatoes and a slab of pie and plenty of coffee. If you’ve got any comparatively modern eggs, we’d like to be favored with ’em. And snap out of it. This is my nephew. Going up to our place for a while with Ducky and me, to pay a visit to Spud Dugan.” He grinned, and Red grinned back. “Spud Dugan is our cook,” Dog told Percival, by way of conversation. “Used to wash dishes for Red, here, but we got him to come up to the ranch and work for us. Ducky likes to cook, but he can’t, and I’m a good cook, but I wont, so we figured we’d better get in a neutral party.”