Chip, of the Flying U | Page 2

up here to help me hoe out a little.
Dell ain't used to roughing it; she's just out of a medical school--got her
diploma, she was telling me in the last letter before this. She'll be
finding microbes by the million in this old shack. You tell Patsy I'll be
late to supper--and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies
like--cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that little runt
in the office--"
But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was
clattering down the long slope again to the stable. It was supper time,

and Shorty was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he was
curious to see how the boys would take it. He was just turning loose the
horse when supper was called. He hurried back up the hill to the mess
house, performed hasty ablutions in the tin wash basin on the bench
beside the door, scrubbed his face dry on the roller towel, and took his
place at the long table within.
"Any mail for me?" Jack Bates looked up from emptying the third
spoon of sugar into his coffee.
"Naw--she didn't write this time, Jack." Shorty reached a long arm for
the "Mulligan stew."
"How's the dance coming on?" asked Cal Emmett.
"I guess it's a go, all right. They've got them coons engaged to play.
The hotel's fixing for a big crowd, if the weather holds like this. Chip,
Old Man wants you to catch up the creams, after supper; you've got to
meet the train to-morrow."
"Which train?" demanded Chip, looking up. "Is old Dunk coming?"
"The noon train. No, he didn't say nothing about Dunk. He wants a
bunch of you fellows to go up and hoe out the White House and slick it
up for comp'ny--got to be done t'-night. And Patsy, Old Man says for
you t' git a move on and cook something fit to eat; something that ain't
plum full uh microbes."
Shorty became suddenly engaged in cooling his coffee, enjoying the
varied emotions depicted on the faces of the boys.
"Who's coming?"
"What's up?"
Shorty took two leisurely gulps before he answered:
"Old Man's sister's coming out to stay all summer--and then some,
maybe. Be here to-morrow, he said."

"Gee whiz! Is she pretty?" This from Cal Emmett.
"Hope she ain't over fifty." This from Jack Bates.
"Hope she ain't one of them four-eyed school-ma'ams," added Happy
Jack --so called to distinguish him from Jack Bates, and also because of
his dolorous visage.
"Why can't some one else haul her out?" began Chip. "Cal would like
that job--and he's sure welcome to it."
"Cal's too dangerous. He'd have the old girl dead in love before he got
her over the first ridge, with them blue eyes and that pretty smile of
his'n. It's up to you, Splinter--Old Man said so."
"She'll be dead safe with Chip. HE won't make love to her," retorted
Cal.
"Wonder how old she is," repeated Jack Bates, half emptying the syrup
pitcher into his plate. Patsy had hot biscuits for supper, and Jack's
especial weakness was hot biscuits and maple syrup.
"As to her age," remarked Shorty, "it's a cinch she ain't no spring
chicken, seeing she's the Old Man's sister."
"Is she a schoolma'am?" Happy Jack's distaste for schoolma'ams dated
from his tempestuous introduction to the A B C's, with their daily
accompaniment of a long, thin ruler.
"No, she ain't a schoolma'am. She's a darn sight worse. She's a doctor."
"Aw, come off!" Cal Emmett was plainly incredulous."
"That's right. Old Man said she's just finished taking a course uh
medicine--what'd yuh call that?"
"Consumption, maybe--or snakes." Weary smiled blandly across the
table.

"She got a diploma, though. Now where do you get off at?"
"Yeah--that sure means she's a doctor," groaned Cal.
"By golly, she needn't try t' pour any dope down ME," cried a short, fat
man who took life seriously--a man they called Slim, in fine irony.
"Gosh, I'd like to give her a real warm reception," said Jack Bates, who
had a reputation for mischief. "I know them Eastern folks, down t' the
ground. They think cow-punchers wear horns. Yes, they do. They think
we're holy terrors that eat with our six-guns beside our plates-- and the
like of that. They make me plum tired. I'd like to--wish we knew her
brand."
"I can tell you that," said Chip, cynically. "There's just two bunches to
choose from. There's the Sweet Young Things, that faint away at sight
of a six-shooter, and squawk and catch at your arm if they see a garter
snake, and blush if you happen to catch their eye suddenly, and cry if
you don't take off your hat every time you see them