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PAGE 7

Lin McLean’s Honey-Moon
by [?]

“A hair hygrometer,” he said to me, waving his wax-like hand over it. “The indications are obtained from the expansion and contraction of a prepared human hair, transferred to an index needle traversing the divided arc of–“

“What oil do you put on the human hair Jode?” called out the Governor, who had left our group, and was gamboling about by himself among the tubes and dials. “What will this one do?” he asked, and poked at a wet paper disc. But before the courteous Jode could explain that it had to do with evaporation and the dew-point, the Governor’s attention wandered, and he was blowing at a little fan-wheel. This instantly revolved and set a number of dial hands going different ways. “Hi!” said the Governor, delighted. “Seen ’em like that down mines. Register air velocity in feet. Put it away, Jode. You don’t want that to-morrow. What you’ll need, Hilbrun says, is a big old rain-gauge and rubber shoes.”

“I shall require nothing of the sort, Governor,” Jode retorted at once. “And you can go to church without your umbrella in safety, sir. See there.” He pointed to a storm-glass, which was certainly as clear as crystal. “An old-fashioned test, you will doubtless say, gentlemen,” Jode continued–though none of us would have said anything like that–“but unjustly discredited; and, furthermore, its testimony is well corroborated, as you will find you must admit.” Jode’s voice was almost threatening, and he fetched one corroborator after another. I looked passively at wet and dry bulbs, at self-recording, dotted registers; I caught the fleeting sound of words like “meniscus” and “terrestrial minimum thermometer,” and I nodded punctually when Jode went through some calculation. At last I heard something that I could understand–a series of telegraphic replies to Jode from brother signal-service officers all over the United States. He read each one through from date of signature, and they all made any rain to-morrow entirely impossible. “And I tell you,” Jode concluded, in his high, egg-shell voice, “there’s no chance of precipitation now, sir. I tell you, sir,”–he was shrieking jubilantly–“there’s not a damn’ thing to precipitate!”

We left him in his triumph among his glass and mercury. “Gee whiz!” said the Governor. “I guess we’d better go and tell Hilbrun it’s no use.”

We went, and Hilbrun smiled with a certain compassion for the antiquated scientist. “That’s what they all say,” he said. “I’ll do my talking to-morrow.”

“If any of you gentlemen, or your friends,” said Assistant Lusk, stepping up, “feel like doing a little business on this, I am ready to accommodate you.”

“What do yu’ want this evenin’?” said Lin McLean, promptly.

“Five to one,” said Lusk.

“Go yu’ in twenties,” said the impetuous puncher; and I now perceived this was to be a sporting event. Lin had his wad of bills out–or what of it still survived his bride’s shopping. “Will you hold stakes, doctor?” he said to the Governor.

But that official looked at the clear sky, and thought he would do five to one in twenties himself. Lusk accommodated him, and then Ogden, and then me. None of us could very well be stake-holder, but we registered our bets, and promised to procure an uninterested man by eight next morning. I have seldom had so much trouble, and I never saw such a universal search for ready money. Every man we asked to hold stakes instantly whipped out his own pocketbook, went in search of Lusk, and disqualified himself. It was Jode helped us out. He would not bet, but was anxious to serve, and thus punish the bragging Lusk.

Sunday was, as usual, chronically fine, with no cloud or breeze anywhere, and by the time the church-bells were ringing, ten to one was freely offered. The biscuit-shooter went to church with her friends, so she might wear her fine clothes in a worthy place, while her furloughed husband rushed about Cheyenne, entirely his own old self again, his wad of money staked and in Jode’s keeping. Many citizens bitterly lamented their lack of ready money. But it was a good thing for these people that it was Sunday, and the banks closed.