The Chinook

Emblazoned on the front page of the Omaha paper upon which Mr. Pantin relied to keep him abreast of the times was the announcement that both mutton and wool had touched highwater mark in the history of the sheep-raising industry.

Mr. Pantin moved into the bow window where the light was better and read the article carefully. The Australian embargo, dust-storms in the steppes of Russia, rumors of war, all had contributed to send prices soaring. When he had concluded, he took the stub of a pencil from his waistcoat pocket and made a computation in neat figures upon the margin. As he eyed the total his mouth puckered in a whistle which changed gradually to a grin of satisfaction.

"You can't keep a squirrel down in a timbered country," Mr. Pantin chuckled aloud, ambiguously.

A pleased smile still rested upon his face when Mrs. Pantin entered.

"Priscilla, will you do me a favor?"

"Abram," reproachfully, "have I ever failed you? What is it?"

"The next time you have something going on here I want you to invite Kate Prentice."

Mrs. Pantin recoiled.

"What!"

"Don't squawk like that!" said Mr. Pantin, irritably. "You do it often, and it's an annoying mannerism."

"Do you quite realize what you are asking?" his wife demanded.

"Perfectly," replied Mr. Pantin, calmly. "I've passed the stage when I talk to make conversation."

"But think how she's been criticised!"

Mr. Pantin got up impatiently.

"Oh, you virtuous dames--"