"Well, but I'll hold it. Your hands are dirty." Dr. Whitmore eyed the
hands disapprovingly.

The Old Man read it slowly through, growing prouder every line.

"You're all right, Dell--I'll be doggoned if you ain't. Don't you worry
about the dance--I'll see't yuh get it. You go tell the Countess to bake
up a lot of cake and truck, and I'll send some uh the boys around t'
tell the neighbors. Better have it Friday night, I guess--I'm goin t'
start the round-up out early next week. Doggone it! I've gone and
burned that weldin'. Go on and stop your botherin' me!"

In two minutes the Little Doctor was back, breathless.

"What about the music, J. G.? We want GOOD music."

"Well, I'll tend t' that part. Say! You can rig up that room off the
dining room for your office--I s'pose you'll have to have one. You make
out a list of what dope you want--and be sure yuh get a-plenty. I look
for an unhealthy summer among the cow-punchers. If I ain't mistook in
the symptoms, Dunk's got palpitation uh the heart right now--an' got it
serious."

The Old Man chuckled to himself and went back to his welding.

"Oh, Louise!" The Little Doctor hurried to where the Countess was
scrubbing the kitchen steps with soft soap and sand and considerable
energy. "J. G. says I may have a dance next Friday night, so we must
hurry and fix the house--only I don't see much fixing to be done;
everything is SO clean."