"I might--if I didn't understand all about that--you know? As it is I
want to show you that I'm grateful, and my experienced eye informs me
that you arrived in a box car. An empty furniture car, I should say,
judging by that scrap of excelsior in your back hair, although the car
might have been loaded with crockery."

Mr. Hennage removed the evidence and gazed at it reflectively.

"I suppose, now, if that'd been a feather, you'd a-swore I flew in."

"Possibly. You've been a high flyer in your day, haven't you?"

Mr. Hennage grinned. "I've flew some, but I've come home to roost now.
How's the old savage down at the Hat Ranch?"

"Sam Singer is unchanged. Nothing ever changes in this country, Mr.
Hennage."

"Nothin' but money," he corrected, as he fished a bill out of his vest
pocket, "an' money sure changes hands, more particular when I'm
around."

"Are you going back to the Silver Dollar saloon?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Faro, roulette, black jack, coon can or craps?"

"The old game--faro."