got that room full of drums and dolls and skates and bags of candy and
jumping-jacks and toy lambs and whistles and such infantile truck. And
what do you think he's goin' to do with them inefficacious knick-
knacks? Don't surmise none--Cherokee told me. He's goin' to lead 'em
up in his red sleigh and--wait a minute, don't order no drinks yet--
he's goin' to drive down here to Yellowhammer and give the kids--the
kids of this here town--the biggest Christmas tree and the biggest
cryin' doll and Little Giant Boys' Tool Chest blowout that was ever
seen west of the Cape Hatteras."

Two minutes of absolute silence ticked away in the wake of Baldy's
words. It was broken by the House, who, happily conceiving the moment
to be ripe for extending hospitality, sent a dozen whisky glasses
spinning down the bar, with the slower travelling bottle bringing up
the rear.

"Didn't you tell him?" asked the miner called Trinidad.

"Well, no," answered Baldy, pensively; "I never exactly seen my way
to.

"You see, Cherokee had this Christmas mess already bought and paid
for; and he was all flattered up with self-esteem over his idea; and
we had in a way flew the flume with that fizzy wine I speak of; so I
never let on."

"I cannot refrain from a certain amount of surprise," said the Judge,
as he hung his ivory-handled cane on the bar, "that our friend
Cherokee should possess such an erroneous conception of--ah--his, as
it were, own town."