“Howdy-do, sir,” he said wanly. Then he braced himself and squared his back, and Mr. Gatling perceived—and was glad to note—that the youngster strove to take his heartache in a manly fashion.
“Son,” said Mr. Gatling, “from what I’m able to gather I’m not going to have you for a son-in-law after all. But that’s no reason why we shouldn’t hook up along another line. I’ve been watching you off and on ever since we got acquainted and more closely since—well, since about a week ago, and it strikes me you’ve got some pretty good stuff in you. I’ve been thinking of trying a little flier in the cattle game out here. If you think you’d like a chance to start in as foreman or boss or superintendent or whatever you call it and maybe work up into a partnership if you showed me you had the goods, why, we’ll talk it over together at dinner. The womenfolks won’t be down and we can sit and powwow.”
“I’d like that fine, sir,” said young Tripier.
“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 climb out of these duds you’ve got on and climb back into your regular working clothes—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.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes