mumbled, feeling his face tenderly.

"It said that my name was Patches," suggested the stranger.

"Sure, Mr. Patches, I reckon nobody'll question that."

"Honorable Patches," again prompted the stranger.

"Yes, sir. You bet; Honorable Patches," agreed Curly with emphasis.
Then, as he painfully regained his feet, he held out his hand with as
nearly a smile as his battered features would permit. "Do you mind
shaking on it, Mr. Honorable Patches? Just to show that there's no hard
feelin's?"

Patches responded instantly with a manner that won Curly's heart.
"Good!" he said. "I knew you would do that when you understood, or I
wouldn't have bothered to show you my credentials."

"My mistake," returned Curly. "It's them there credentials of yourn, not
your name, that's hell."

He gingerly mounted his horse again, and Patches turned back to the Dean
as though apologizing for the interruption.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but--about work?"

The Dean never told anyone just what his thoughts were at that
particular moment; probably because they were so many and so
contradictory and confusing. Whether from this uncertainty of mind; from
a habit of depending upon his young foreman, or because of that