of "war-bags" for fancy flannel shirts and brilliant ties hadn't occurred—so Old Bill Hicks said—within the remembrance of the present generation of prairie-dogs!
"Jest thinkin' about cavortin' among the gals about drives them 'ombres loco," declared the ranchman. "Hi guy! here's even Jimsey's got a bran' new shirt on."
"'Tain't nuther!" scoffed Bud. "Whar's your eyes, Boss? Don't you reckernize that gay and festive shirt? Jimsey bought it 'way back when Mis' Hills' twins was born."
"So it's as old as the Hills, is it?" grunted Mr. Hicks. "Wal, he ain't worn it right frequent in this yere neck o' woods—that I'll swear to! An' a purple tie with it—Je-ru-sha! Somebody'll take a shot at him in that combination of riotin' colors—you hear me!"
The girls too were quite fluttered over the prospect of attending the party. Helen had agreed to take her violin along and Bob offered to help out with the music by playing his harmonica—an instrument without which he never went anywhere, save to bed or in swimming!
"And I can't think of anything more utterly sad, Bobbie," declared his sister, "than your rendition of 'the Suwanee River' on that same mouth-organ. When it comes to your playing for square dances, I fear you would give our Western friends much cause for complaint—and many of
