I've got two box stalls, and there's an old gray horse in the pasture--
the same old gray horse that come out uh the wilderness--with a bad case
uh string-halt. I'll have some uh the boys ketch him up and you can
start a horsepital!"

"Is that supposed to be a joke, J. G.? I never can tell YOUR jokes by
ear. If it is, I'll laugh. I'm going to use whatever I need and you
can do without Mr.--er--those two men."

"Oh, go ahead. The horse don't belong to ME, so I'm willing you should
practice on him a while. Say! Dell! Give him that truck you've been
pouring down me for the last week. Maybe he'll relish the taste of the
doggone stuff--I don't."

"I suppose you've labeled THAT a 'Joke--please laugh here,'" sighed Miss
Whitmore, plaintively, climbing gingerly down.






CHAPTER IV.
An Ideal Picture.



"I guess I'll go down to Denson's to-day," said J. G. at the breakfast
table one morning. "Maybe we can get that grass widow to come and keep
house for us."