This was fresh from the mail-order house in Chicago.

He took out almost reverently a pair of high-heeled boots with purple tops, a pair of spurs, a gay shirt, a gayer neckerchief, a broad-brimmed hat, a leather holster, and--most impressive of all--a pair of goatskin chaps dyed a violent maroon.

All these he excitedly donned, the spurs last.

Then he clambered down the ladder from the loft, somewhat impeded by the spurs, and went into the kitchen.

Metta Judson, washing dishes, gave a little cry of alarm.
Nothing like this had ever before invaded the Gashwiler home by front door or back.
"Why, Mert' Gill, whatever you dressed up like that for?
My stars, you look like a cowboy or something! Well, I must say!" "Say, Metta, do me a favour.