“Howdy, Henry,” says Harelip. “I’m glad to see yuh.”
“I’m pleased to know that the sight of me makes folks glad,” says I. “What yuh got on your mind and under your arm?”
He unrolls enough for me to see that he’s got Whittaker’s lodge clothes.
“Chuck told me I could wear these at the front end of that pe-rade tomorrow, but I’d have to see you first.”
“What do yuh reckon to have me do—dress yuh?” I asks, and he grins all over his homely face.
“It’ll be all right, will it?” he asks, and I nods and replies:
“You know best, Harelip. There’s a divinity that shapes our ends.”
“Uh-huh. I gives you thanks, Henry.”
“I’ll take ’em, Harelip,” says I. “I may never have any use for them, but it will be something to remember yuh by, old trailer.”
I watches him climb on his flea-bitten cayuse, and jog off down the road. Calamity is looking over my shoulder, and as Harelip drifts out of sight he yelps: