“I’d like that fine, sir,” said young Tripler.
“Good boy! I’ll keep you so busy you won’t have time to brood on any little disappointment that you may be suffering from now.... Say, son, don’t mind my suggesting something, do you? If I was you I’d skin out of these duds you’ve got on and climb back into your regular working clothes—somehow, you don’t seem to match the picture the way you are now.”
“Why, you advised me to get ’em your own self, sir!” exclaimed the youth.
“That’s right, I did, didn’t I? Well, maybe you had better keep on wearing ’em.” A shrewd and crafty gleam flickered under his eyelids. “You see—yes—on second thoughts, I think I want a chance to get used to you in your stylish new outfit. Promise me you’ll wear ’em until noon tomorrow anyhow?”
“Yes, sir,” said his victim obediently.
Mr. Gatling winked a concealed deadly wink.
A Close Shave
On a certain day the young governor—Gov. G. W. Blankenship—left the Executive Mansion and motored up to the State Penitentiary.