The Dude Wrangler | Page 6

in the wide doorway, agreeably
aware that he was a pleasing figure in his artist's smock and the flowing
scarf which he always put on when he painted.
No one noticed him, however, for everyone was discussing the return
of the "Smith boy," and the five dollars which Mr. Appel, the railway

magnate, had unexpectedly contributed to the purse that he was going
to present to him on behalf of the guests.
Miss Spenceley was on the veranda as he had surmised she would be,
and Wallie debated as to whether he should wait until discovered and
urged to show his roses, or frankly offer his work for criticism.
While he hesitated, the clatter of hoofs and what appeared to be a
serious runaway on the side avenue brought everyone up standing. The
swaying vehicle was a laundry wagon, and when it turned in at the
entrance to the grounds of The Colonial, the astonished guests saw that
not only had the horse a driver but a rider!
It was not a runaway. On the contrary, the person on the horse's back
was using his heels and his hat at every jump to get more speed out of
the amazed animal.
The wagon stopped in front of the hotel with the driver grinning
uncertainly, while a soldierly figure sprang over the wheel to wring the
hand of Smith, the gardener. Another on the horse's back replaced his
service cap at an extraordinary angle and waited nonchalantly for the
greetings to be over.
Before he went to the army "Willie" Smith had been a bashful boy who
blushed when the guests spoke to him, but he faced them now with the
assurance of a vaudeville entertainer as he introduced his "buddy":
"Pinkey Fripp, of Wyoming--a hero, ladies and gentlemen! The grittiest
little soldier in the A.E.F., with a medal to prove it!"
Followed an account of the deed of reckless courage for which Pinkey
had been decorated, and the Smith boy told it so well that everyone's
eyes had tears in them. Mrs. Appel, fumbling for her handkerchief,
dropped her ball of yarn over the railing, where the cat wound it among
the rose bushes so effectively that to disentangle it were an endless
task.
The subject of the eulogy stared back unabashed at the guests, who

stared at him in admiration and curiosity. Unflattered, unmoved, he
sagged to one side of the bare-backed horse with the easy grace of one
accustomed to the saddle. No one just like him ever had come under the
observation of the august patrons of The Colonial.
Pinkey Fripp was about five feet four and square as a bulldog.
"Hard-boiled" is a word which might have been coined specially to
describe him. The cropped hair on his round head was sandy, his skin a
sun-blistered red, and his lips had deep cracks in them. His nose did not
add to his beauty any more than the knife-scar around his neck, which
looked as if someone had barely failed in an attempt to cut off his head.
The feature that saved the young fellow's face from a look of
unmitigated "toughness" was his pale gray eyes, whose steady, fearless
look seemed to contend with a whimsical gleam of humour.
Pinkey listened, with the disciplined patience of the army, to the recital
of the exploit that had won the War Cross for him, but there was a
peculiar glint in his light eyes. As Smith drew to a conclusion, Pinkey
slowly lifted his leg, stiffened by a machine-gun bullet, over the horse's
neck and sat sideways.
The applause was so vociferous, so spontaneous and hearty, that
nothing approaching it ever had been heard at The Colonial. But it
stopped as suddenly, for in the middle of it Pinkey gathered himself
and sprang through the air like a flying-squirrel, to bowl the Smith boy
over. "You said you wouldn't tell about that 'Craw de gare,' ner call me
a hero, an' you've gone and done it!" he said, accusingly, as he sat
astride of him. "I got feelin's jest like grown-up folks, and I don't like to
be laughed at. Sorry, Big Boy, but you got this comin'!" Thereupon,
with a grin, Pinkey banged his host's head on the gravel.
The two were surrounded when this astonishing incident was over and
it was found that not only was the Smith boy not injured but seemed to
be used to it and bore no malice. The guests shook hands with the boys
and congratulated them; they examined the War Cross that Pinkey
produced reluctantly from the bottom of the flour-sack in which he
carried his clothing, and finally Mr. Appel presented the purse in a

speech to which nobody listened--and the Smith boy shocked
everybody by his extravagance when he gave five