"Yes, my dear," said his wife, "you will. And I shall have to make his
tea for six days."

"Otherwise," Ogden suggested, "it might be reported that you were
enemies of religion."

"That's about it," said the Judge. "I can get on with most people. But
elephants depress me."

So we named the Doctor "Jumbo," and I departed to my quarters.

At the bunk house, the comments were similar but more highly salted. The
men were going to bed. In spite of their outward decorum at the service,
they had not liked to be told that they were "altogether become filthy."
It was easy to call names; they could do that themselves. And they
appealed to me, several speaking at once, like a concerted piece at the
opera: "Say, do you believe babies go to hell?"--"Ah, of course he
don't."--"There ain't no hereafter, anyway."--"Ain't there?"--"Who told
y'u?"--"Same man as told the preacher we were all a sifted set of
sons-of-guns."--"Well, I'm going to stay a Mormon."--"Well, I'm going to
quit fleeing from temptation."--"That's so! Better get it in the neck
after a good time than a poor one." And so forth. Their wit was not
extreme, yet I should like Dr. MacBride to have heard it. One fellow put
his natural soul pretty well into words, "If I happened to learn what
they had predestinated me to do, I'd do the other thing, just to show
'em!"

And Trampas? And the Virginian? They were out of it. The Virginian had
gone straight to his new abode. Trampas lay in his bed, not asleep, and
sullen as ever.