He had measured out the dose, and I meant to swallow it without whining--but it was exceeding bitter to the palate! "I see the ticket is dated twenty-four hours ahead," I said as calmly as I knew how, "which gives me time to have Rankin pack a few duds.

I hope the outfit you furnish includes a red silk handkerchief and a Colt's .44 revolver, and a key to the proper method of slaying acquaintances in the West.

I hate to start in with all white chips." "You probably mean a Colt's .45," said dad, with a more convincing calmness than I could show.

"It shall be provided.

As to the key, you will no doubt find that on the ground when you arrive." "Very well," I replied, getting up and stretching my arms up as high as I could reach--which was beastly manners, of course, but a safe vent for my feelings, which cried out for something or somebody to punch.