Me Smith

suggested Ralston, who had listened in unfeigned amusement.
    Tubbs, startled, clasped both hands over the top of his head and backed off.
    “Why, I need it myself.”
    “Certainly—we understand that; but supposing you were to die—supposing something happened to you, as is liable to happen out here—you wouldn’t care what became of your skull, once you were good and dead. If it were sold, you’d be just that much in, besides making an invaluable contribution to science,” Ralston urged persuasively.
    “It not infrequently happens that paupers, and prisoners sentenced to suffer capital punishment, dispose of their bodies for anatomical purposes, for which they are paid in advance. As a matter of fact, Tubbs,” declared McArthur earnestly, “my superficial examination of your head has so impressed me that upon the chance of some day adding it to my collection I am willing to offer you a reasonable sum for it.”
    “It’s on bi-products that the money is made,” declared Ralston soberly, “and I advise you not to let this chance pass. You can raise money on the rest of your anatomy any time; but selling your head separately like this—don’t miss it, Tubbs!”
    “Don’t I git the money till you git my head?” Tubbs demanded suspiciously.
    “I could make a first payment to you, and the remainder could be paid to your heirs.”
    “My heirs! Say, all that I’ll ever git for my head wouldn’t be a smell amongst my heirs. A round-up of my heirs would take in the hull of North Dakoty. Not aimin’ to brag, I got mavericks runnin’ on that range what must be twelve-year-old.”
    McArthur looked the disgust he felt at Tubbs’s ribald humor.
    “Your jests are exceedingly distasteful to me, Tubbs.”
    “That ain’t no jest. Onct I——”
    “Let’s get down to business,” interrupted Ralston. “What do you consider your skull worth?”
    “It’s wuth considerable to me. I don’t know as I’m so turrible anxious to sell. I can eat with it, and it gits me around.” Tubbs’s tone took on the assumed indifference of an astute horse trader. “I’ve always held my head high, as you might say, and it looks to me like it ought to bring a hunderd dollars in the open market. No, I couldn’t think of lettin’ it go for less than a hundred—cash.”
    McArthur considered.
    “If you will agree to my conditions, I will give you my check for one hundred dollars,” he said at last.
    “That sounds reasonable,” Tubbs assented.
    “I should want you to carry constantly upon your person my name, address, and written instructions as to the care of and disposal of your skull, in the event of your demise. I shall also insist that you do not voluntarily place your head where your skull may be injured; because, as you can readily see, if it were badly crushed, it would be worthless for my purpose, or that of the scientific body to whom I intend to bequeath my interest in it, should I die before yourself.”
    “I wasn’t aimin’ to lay it in a vise,” remarked Tubbs.
    While McArthur was drawing up the agreement between them, Tubbs’s face brightened with a unique thought.
    “Say,” he suggested, “why don’t you leave word in them instructions for me to be mounted? I know a taxidermist over there near the Yellowstone Park what can put up a b’ar or a timber wolf so natural you wouldn’t know ’twas dead. Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to see me settin’ around the house with my teeth showin’ and an ear of corn in my mouth? I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll sell you my hull hide for a hundred more. It might cost two dollars to have me tanned, and with a nice felt linin’ you could have a good rug out of me for a very little money.”
    McArthur replied ironically:
    “I never have regarded you as an ornament, Tubbs.”
    Tubbs looked at the check McArthur handed him, with satisfaction.
    “That’s what I call clear velvet!” he declared, and went off chuckling to show it to his friends.
    “When you think of it, this is a very singular transaction,” observed McArthur, wiping his fountain-pen carefully.
    “Yes,” and Ralston, no longer able to contain himself, shouted with laughter; “it is.”
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    XII
SMITH GETS “HUNKS”
    Smith’s ugly mood was still upon him when he picked up his grammar that evening. Jealous, humiliated by the loss of the morning’s race, full of revengeful thoughts and evil feelings, he wanted to hurt somebody—something—even Dora. He had a vague, sullen