The process of lubrication was brief; and "Have another?" queried the
tramp. "I ain't all broke--only I ain't payin' dividen's, bein' hard
times."

"Keep your two-bits," said the puncher. "This is on me. You're goin'
to furnish the chaser, Go to it and cinch up them there 'saddest.'"

"Bein' just two-bits this side of bein' a socialist, I guess I'll keep
me change. I ain't a drinkin' man--regular, but I never was scared of
eatin'."

Sundown gazed about the dingy room. Like most poets, he was not averse
to an audience, and like most poets he was quite willing that such
audience should help defray his incidental expenses--indirectly, of
course. Prospects were pretty thin just then. Two Mexican herders
loafed at the other end of the bar. They appeared anything but
susceptible to the blandishments of Euterpe. Sundown gazed at the
ceiling, which was fly-specked and uninspiring,

"Turn her loose!" said the puncher, winking at the bartender.

Sundown folded his long arms and tilted one lean shoulder as though
defying the elements to blast him where he stood:--


"Lives there a gent who has not heard,
Before he died, the saddest word?

"'What word is that?' the maiden cried;
'I'd like to hear it before I died.'