"I wonder," _re_marks the station-agent, "if that Rockafeller telegram
was _genuwine._"
The postmaster throwed up his hands. "We're it!" he says. "We sole
our sand fer a song, and we bought it back at a steep figger."
"With all that money," adds the hotel clerk, "they must 'a' had to
walk bow-laigged."
"My friends," says the station-agent, "the drinks is on us!"
* * * * *
And me? Wal, I wandered 'round fer a while--like I was plumb loco. When
I landed up at last, I seen somethin' white in front of me. It was a
sign, and it said, "The Lloyd Addition."
I sit down on my little pile of stakes, and pulled out the last letter
I'd got from Macie.
"Dear Alec," it begun, "I'm so glad you got you' land----"
I didn't read no further. I looked off acrosst the mesquite in the
_di_rection of Briggs City. "The land ain't no good," I says. "And
all my money's gone." And I laid my haid down on my arms.
Just then, outen a bunch of grass not far off, I heerd the spunky little
song of a lark!