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 "This is the lady you mentioned to me one time, sir?"

Texas wanted to show interest, a polite, if not a deep interest, although the humor of Uncle Boley's romance was one of the hardest things to bear that he ever had met.

"That's Gertie Moorehead," Uncle Boley said, very proud of her, and very proud of himself for getting on the road of winning her to his hoary bosom.

"I wish you much joy," said Texas, in the quaint words of congratulation with which they still greet bridal people in certain remote corners of this wide land.

"She'll be down," Uncle Boley took the picture, held if off at arm's length, studied it with romantic softness in his eyes, "to look me over and talk it up between us. If she's suited, we'll hitch. It never was good for a man to be alone, and it never will be. The longer he's alone the worse it gits."

"Yes, sir, I guess it must, sir."

"I can take care of a woman, I ain't none of your old used-up stiffs. I'm a better man than many a one of forty-seven I could step out of that door and lay my hands on!"

"Yes, and a sight better than some of them at thirty-seven, I'll bet you a purty, sir."