"Jack," said Mr. Bishop, who has called me by that nickname since I was seven years old, "Jack, go out to the old barn and get a pair of horse blankets. You know where I keep them."
"You've got a great head on you, Jim," roared Harding. "I was thinking of a pair of barrels."
When I returned with the red and yellow blankets the ladies had disappeared.
"Never mind sending down to the club for your other clothes," Bishop was saying. "I've got several suits, such as they are, and I reckon one of them will fit ye."
"This blanket is pretty good," declared the magnate. "Say, Jim, what was it you said about that fifty-year-old cider?"
"I'm glad I didn't give you any more of it; I'd lost my life as well as my clothes," declared the farmer. "If they'd stayed away 'nother minute or so I'd won that second fall, sure as sin, Bob," he said, rather ruefully, as we wrapped the blanket around him.
"You just think you would," grinned Harding, lifting up the blanket so as to keep from stumbling over it. "Say, it must be tough to have to wear skirts all the time. Be a good fellow, Smith, and hold up my train."
They tried to sneak in at the back entrance, but Miss Harding and the others saw them and headed them off. I shall never forget their looks of amazement, and then the screams of laughter which followed the hurried explanation.
I must postpone an account of the dinner and the dance until the next entry.
[Illustration: "It must be tough to have to wear skirts all the time">[