rocks, an' then they throwed one up in the tall grass, one up an' one
down. There's a whole pile of 'em that ain't broke at all. An' the
little dark fellow says, "A good job, Gus. We'll be Johnny-on-the-spot
as soon as it gets dark."'

"Kirke was standing over him, his eyes bright, his hands clenched. 'On
the level?' he whispered.

"'Sure, but gimme the half first.' Kirke passed out a silver dollar
without a word and the boy snatched it from him, giggling to himself
with rapture.

"'Right up there, mister, in that pile of weeds.'

"Kirke took my hand and we scrambled up the bank, pulling back the tall
grass,--no need to stoop and look. Bottle after bottle, bottle after
bottle, lay there snugly and securely, waiting for the sheriff and his
friend to rescue them after dark.

"The lad had already disappeared, smoking his corn-silks rapturously,
his dollar snug in the palm of his hand. And Kirke and I, without a
word, began patiently carrying the bottles to the buggy. Again and
again we returned to the clump of weeds, counting the bottles as we
carried them out,--a hundred and fifty of them, even.

"Then we got into the buggy, feet outside, for the bed of the buggy was
filled and piled high, covered with the robe to discourage prying eyes,
and turned the little brown mare toward town.

"'Connie, would you seriously object to kissing me just once? I feel