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"It's all right but the last line," said Billy, candidly. "There is something wrong

with that last line."

"Yes," agreed Bridge, "there is."

"I guess Knibbs is safe for another round at least," said Billy.

Bridge was eying his companion, noting the broad shoulders, the deep chest, the

mighty forearm and biceps which the other's light cotton shirt could not conceal.

"It is none of my business," he said presently; "but from your general appearance,

from bits of idiom you occasionally drop, and from the way you handled those two

boes the night we met I should rather surmise that at some time or other you had

been less than a thousand miles from the w.k. roped arena."

"I seen a prize fight once," admitted Billy.

It was the day before they were due to arrive in Kansas City that Billy earned a

hand-out from a restaurant keeper in a small town by doing some odd jobs for

the man. The food he gave Billy was wrapped in an old copy of the Kansas City

Star. When Billy reached camp he tossed the package to Bridge, who, in addition

to his honorable post as poet laureate, was also cook. Then Billy walked down to

the stream, near-by, that he might wash away the grime and sweat of honest toil

from his hands and face.

As Bridge unwrapped the package and the paper unfolded beneath his eyes an

article caught his attention--just casually at first; but presently to the exclusion

of all else. As he read his eyebrows alternated between a position of considerable

elevation to that of a deep frown. Occasionally he nodded knowingly. Finally he

glanced up at Billy who was just rising from his ablutions. Hastily Bridge tore

from the paper the article that had attracted his interest, folded it, and stuffed it

into one of his pockets--he had not had time to finish the reading and he wanted

to save the article for a later opportunity for careful perusal.

That evening Bridge sat for a long time scrutinizing Billy through half-closed lids,

and often he found his eyes wandering to the red ring about the other's wrist; but

whatever may have been within his thoughts he kept to himself.

It was noon when the two sauntered into Kansas City. Billy had a dollar in his

pocket--a whole dollar. He had earned it assisting an automobilist out of a ditch.

"We'll have a swell feed," he had confided to Bridge, "an' sleep in a bed just to

learn how much nicer it is sleepin' out under the black sky and the shiny little

stars."

170

The Mucker