great city," said the girl, obligingly. "But why don't you hurry?"

She tossed him the discarded dress. He was seized with fresh panic as he
took the thing.

"I don't like to," he said, sullenly.

"Look at all the money we'll have!" urged the brother.

"Here," said the girl, beguilingly, "when you've done it I'll give you
two long sucks of my lemon candy."

She took the enticing combination from Merle and held it fair before his
yearning eyes; the last rite of a monstrous seduction was achieved. The
victim wavered and was lost. He took the dress.

"Whistle if any one comes," he said, and withdrew behind the headstone
of the late Jonas Whipple. He--of the modest sex--would not disrobe in
public. At least it was part modesty; in part the circumstance that his
visible garments were precisely all he wore. He would not reveal to this
child of wealth that the Cowans had not the habit of multifarious
underwear. Over the headstone presently came the knee pants, the faded
calico waist with bone buttons. The avid buyer seized and apparelled
herself in them with a deft facility. The Merle twin was amazed that she
should so soon look so much like a boy. From behind the headstone came
the now ambiguous and epicene figure of the Wilbur twin, contorted to
hold together the back of his waist.

"I can't button it," he said in deepest gloom.