The Wolf Scratches

"Hours yet, my love, before I can gorge myself on a shredded wheat biscuit."

Mrs. Toomey braided a wisp of hair to an infinitesimal end and said firmly: "Jap, we've simply got to do something! Can't you borrow?"

"Borrow! I couldn't throw a rock inside the city limits without hitting some one to whom I owe money. Come again, Old Dear," mockingly.

"Wouldn't Mormon Joe--"

"I'd starve before I'd ask that sheepherder!" His face darkened to ugliness. "I'm surprised at you--that you haven't more pride. You know he broke me, shutting me off from water with his leases. I've explained all that to you."

She was silent; she didn't have the heart to hit him when he was down, though she had her own opinion as to the cause of his failure.

Since she did not reply, he went on vindictively: "I've come to hate the sight of him--his damned insolence. Every time I see him going into his shack over there," he nodded towards the diagonal corner, "I could burn it."

"It's funny--his building it."

"To save hotel bills when he comes to town. Yes," ironically, "I can see him lending me money." Mrs. Toomey sat up and cried excitedly: "Jap, let's sell something! There's that silver punch bowl that your Uncle Jasper gave us for a wedding present, and Aunt Sarah Page's silver teapot--Mrs. Sudds admires it tremendously."

Toomey's brow cleared instantly.

"We can do that--I'll raffle it--the punch bowl--and get a hundred and fifty out of it easily." He discussed the details enthusiastically, finally blowing out the light and going to sleep as contentedly as though it already had been accomplished.