again.  I tried to drag him away, and failed miserably.  I’ll be hanged if he didn’t get hold of a six-shooter, and threatened to fill me with lead if I interfered.  He told the boys he was going to join the lodge.  That was the dominant note.  He was going to join the lodge.  He had come to town on purpose.  How they cheered him!  Then that scoundrel Jake Williams was inspired by Satan to ask him if he was provided with an initiation robe.  And he actually persuaded Jasperson to remove his beautiful black clothes and to array himself in a Sonora blanket.  Then they striped his poor white face with black and red paint, till he looked like an Apache.  Honestly, I did my level best to quash the proceedings:  I might as well have tried to bale out the Pacific with a pitchfork.  At a quarter-past seven the Swiggarts drove into Paradise, and I wish you could have seen the Grand Secretary’s face.  She had no idea, naturally, that her Jasper was the artist so busily engaged in decorating the village.  But she knew there was an awful row on, and I fancy she rather gloried in her own saintliness.  Presently the lodge filled up, and I could see Miss Birdie standing on the porch looking anxiously around for the candidate.  Finally I felt so sorry for the girl, that I made up my mind to give her a hint, so that she could slip quietly away.  She greeted me warmly, and said that she supposed Mr. Jasperson was around ‘somewheres,’ and I said that he was.  Then she spoke about the riot, and asked if I had seen a number of brutal cowboys abusing a poor Indian.  She told me that her brothers and sisters inside the lodge were very distressed about it.  And as she talked the yells grew louder, and I was convinced that the candidate was about to present himself.  So I tried to explain the facts.  But, confound it! she was so obtuse—­for I couldn’t blurt the truth right out—­that, before she caught on, the procession arrived.  The catechumen was seated upon an empty beer-barrel, placed upon a sort of float dragged by the boys.  They had with them a big drum, that terrible bassoon of Uncle Jake’s, and a cornet; the noise was something terrific.  Well, Miss Birdie’s a good plucked one!  She stood on the steps and rebuked them.  That voice of hers silenced the band.  Before she was through talking you might have heard a pin drop.  She rated them for a quarter of an hour, and all the good people in the lodge came out to listen and applaud.  I was jammed up against her, and couldn’t stir.  At the end she invited them to come into the lodge to see a good man—­I quote her verbatim—­an upright citizen, a credit to his country and an ornament to society, take the pledge.  When she stopped, Jasperson began, in that soft, silky voice of his.  He thanked her, and said he was glad to know that he was held in such high esteem; that he cordially hoped the boys would come in, as he was paying for the banquet, and that after supper they might expect a real sociable time!

“That’s all, but it was enough for the Grand Secretary.  She gave a ghastly scream, and keeled over, right into my arms.”