"And is that Echo Phonograph worth all this?" inquired Helen.
"We won that phonograph at risk of life and limb," said Willie, doggedly, "from the Centipede-"
"—and twenty other outfits, Senor."
"It's a trophy," declared the foreman, "and so long as it ain't where it belongs, the Flying Heart is in disgrace."
"Even the 'Leven X treats us scornful!" cried the smallest of the trio angrily. "We're a joke to the whole State."
"I know just how these gentlemen must feel," declared Miss Blake, tactfully, at which Stover bowed with grateful awkwardness.
"And it's really a wonderful instrument," said he. "I don't reckon there's another one like it in the world, leastways in these parts. You'd ought to hear it—clear as a bell—"
"And sweet," said Willie. "God! It's sure sweet!"
"Why, we was a passel of savages on this ranch till we got it—no sentiment, no music, no nothin' in our souls—except profanity and thirst. Then everything changed." Stover nodded gravely. "We got gentle. That music mellered us up. We got so we was as full of brotherly love as a basket of kittens. Some of the boys commenced writin' home; Cloudy begin to pay his poker debts. You'd scarcely hear enough profanity to make things bearable. I tell you it was refined. It got so that when a man came steamin' in after a week's high life and low company in town, his wages gone, and his stummick burnin' like he'd swallered all his cigar- butts, it didn't make no difference if he found a herd of purple crocodiles in his blankets, or the bunk-house walls a-crawlin' with Gila monsters. Little things like that wouldn't phaze him! He'd switch on the Echo Phonograph and doze off like a babe in arms, for the tender notes of Madam-o-sella Melby in The Holy City would soothe and comfort him like the caressin' hand of a young female woman."
"I begin to feel your loss," said Speed, gravely. "Gentlemen, I can only assure you I shall do my best."