pearance above the middle thigh. This coat he had found in a store called the Racket, kept by a Jew who wore spectacles with thick lenses, and was a very worm of a man in his apparent humility.
The length of this garment—it was of the style called Prince Albert, much favored even to this day in Missouri and Arkansas by country barristers and barbers and negro preachers—seemed to increase Hartwell's height by several inches, and gave him a dignified and decent appearance, indeed. It had the added advantage of a screen for his revolver, thus taking away from him the appearance of challenge that his armament seemed to inspire. Texas was pleased with it, the fit of it in the shoulders, the comfortable feeling of being dressed that it gave him, in spite of the great sweat that it threw him into, for it was a still, warm night.
There was nobody in the office of the Woodbine Hotel, but through the open door leading to the dining-room Texas could see a party gathered at supper around a long table. The cackle and chatter proclaimed a celebration of some kind, which he was reluctant to interrupt. As he waited for somebody to appear and inquire into his wants, he saw a small bell on the show-case, such as teachers once used to call up classes, and pasted inside the glass a card with "Wring" written in ink as weak and inassertive as an old person's voice.
