In view of such a possibility--and widows are not altogether different from widowers--it was hardly fair in the folks of Egypt to twist every act of Widower Britt to his discredit and to make him out a renegade of a relict. He did go through all the accepted motions as a mourner. He took on “something dreadful” at the funeral. He placed in the cemetery lot a granite statue of himself, in a frock coat of stone and holding a stone plug hat in the hook of the elbow. That statue cost Tasper Britt rising sixteen hundred dollars--and after he dyed his beard and bought the top piece of hair, the satirists of Egypt were unkind enough to say that he had set his stone image out in the graveyard to scare Hittie if she tried to arise and spy on his new carryings-on. Mr. Britt had continued to be a consistent mourner, according to the old-fashioned conventions. When he arose in the dawn of the day with which the tale begins and unwound a towel from his jowls--for the new Magnetic Hair Restorer had an ambitious way of touching up the pillow-slip with color--he beheld a memento, composed of assembled objects, “sacred to the memory of Mehitable.” In a frame, under glass, on black velvet were these items: silver plate from casket, hair switch, tumbler and spoon with which the last medicine had been administered, wedding ring and marriage certificate; photograph in center. The satirists had their comment for that memento--they averred that it was not complete without the two dish towels to which Hittie had been limited. Mr. Britt inspected the memento and sighed; that was before he had touched up his beard with a patent dye comb. After he had set the scratch wig on his glossy poll and had studied himself in the mirror he looked more cheerful and pulled a snapshot photograph from a bureau drawer, gazed on it and sighed again. It was the picture of a girl, a full-length view of a mighty pretty girl whose smiling face was backed by an open sunshade. She was in white garb and wore no hat. “Vona,” said Mr. Britt, talking out as if the sound of his voice fortified his faith, “you're going to see this thing in the right way, give you time. I'm starting late--but I'm blasted wide awake from now on. I have gone after money, but money ain't everything. I reckon that by to-night I can show you honors that you'll share with me--they've been waiting for me, and now I'll reach out and take 'em for your sake. Hittie didn't know what to do with money--honors would have bothered her. But with a girl like you I can grab in and relish living for the rest of this life.” Then Mr. Britt went over to the tavern to get his breakfast.