Without a change of expression^ Mormon Joe caught it, rolled it compactly and kicked it over the horse's back into the street.
"There's no brass buttons sewed on my coat — take it yourself." Mormon Joe shrugged a shoulder as he walked off.
Walter Scales of the Emporium dashed into the street and recovered the laundry with an apologetic air as though he were somehow responsible for the act.
"You have to make allowances for the rough characters that swarm into a new country," he said, as he delivered the bundle himself.
"I'll break that pauper sheepherder before I quit!" A vein under Toomey's right eye and another on his temple stood out swollen and purple.
" People like him that send away for their grub and never spend a cent they can help in their home town don't benefit a country none." Mr. Scales did not attempt to conceal his pleasure at the foot-long list Toomey handed him. He added urgently, " Wisht you'd try and stay in for the Boosters Club to-night, Mr. Toomey. We'd like your advice."
Toomey refused curtly.
" Get that order out at once," he said peremptorily, as he drove off.
No invitation cordial or otherwise was extended to Mormon Joe, so it was upon his own initiative that he stumbled into the room where the Boosters Club was in session that evening. Unmistakably drunk, Joe sat down noisily beside Clarence Teeters who was the only one who made room for him.
The purpose of the meeting was to consider ways and means to build a ditch that should bring water from the
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