Both men were fairly aquiver with the excitement of anticipation. Hal had risen, and had removed his belt and gun, thrown off his storm-coat, and stood now in his flannel shirt, hunting boots, and woolen trousers, a trim, vital figure of a man, his eyes dancing, his face aglow.
"Say, that'll be fine," he said. "I can see the whole show from there, can see all their faces."
"Sure; you can see her face, if you try hard," said the irrepressible Mike. Hal had tossed his things on the couch in the upper left-hand corner and drawn a bear robe over them, so that his presence might not be prematurely disclosed. Then he entered the rough pine clothes closet on the opposite side of the room.
"Say, it's goin' to be a bit close in here." Then he turned and shook the big cowman joyously. "Work it up, Mike. Work it up."
"You leave it to me, son. If I can't git eloquent to-night, I ain't got no divine fire."
And he pushed the door of the clothes-press to, turned to see that the room was in readiness, and had put on his own cap when Big Bill entered with a suspicious bulge to a portion of his great-coat.
"Bill," said Mike with a nervous tremor in his voice and taking the foreman by the shoulder, "whatever you do, don't go near that closet, and don't let any one else go near it. There's a Christmas present in there fer Wah-na-gi, and it's a horrible, awful secret."
"Gee, you don't say!" said Bill, laughing but mystified.
"Are the boys all ready?" inquired Mike, going to the door.
"Say, Mike," said Bill. "It's all right. It'll make a cat laf. It's the bummest thing in Christmas-trees you ever see. You better look it over and memorize your impromptu speech."