"That she has," assented Mrs. Allen. "Looked a barn when Jack was a bachelor. This certainly is the finest kind of a birthday-present you all could have thought of."
"Josephine'll cry in a minute, boys," chuckled Allen.
"You hesh up," snapped his wife, glaring at the grinning ranchman.
Sage-brush poured oil on the roughening waters by changing the conversation. Speaking as if making a dare, he challenged: "What I want to know is, is there anybody here present as can rassle a tune out of that there box?"
No one came forward.
"Ain't there none of you boys that can play on a pianny?" he demanded.
"I've played on the big square one down at the Lone Star," gravely piped up Show Low.
"What did you play," asked the inquisitive Polly.
"Poker," answered Show Low seriously, his face showing no trace of humor.
"Poker!" Polly repeated, in disgust.