Not understanding, One-Eye very respectfully took the hand, and shook it. "How are y'?" he said.

"Ah! So ye _do_ exist!" breathed the Father, huskily. Then shaking hands again, "Shure, I've heard about ye for this long time, but was under the impression that ye was only a spook!"

Warm were the greetings exchanged now by the cowboy and Johnnie. One-Eye was powerfully struck by the improvement in the latter's physical appearance. "Gee-whillikens, sonny!" he cried. "W'y, y're not half as peeked as y' used t' be! Y're fuller in the face! And a lot taller!

_Say!_" And when Johnnie explained that it was mostly due to a quart of milk which a certain Mr. Perkins had been bringing to him six days out of seven (until the supply had been cut off along with the visits of the donor), without another syllable, up got One-Eye and tore out, leaving the door open, and raising a pillar of dust on the stairs in the wake of his spurs. He was back in no time, a quart of ice-cold milk in either hand. "If he likes it," he explained to Father Pat, "and if it's good for him, w'y, they ain't no reason under the shinin' sun w'y he can't have it.--Sonny, I put in a' order for a quart ev'ry mornin'. And I paid for six months in advance."

His own appearance was not what it had been formerly. He looked less leathery, and lanker. In answer to Johnnie's anxious inquiry, he admitted that he had been sick, "Havin' et off, accidental, 'bout half a' inch o' mustache;" though, so far as Johnnie could see, none of the sandy ornament appeared to be missing. And where had he been all this long time? Oh, jes' shuttlin' 'twixt Cheyenne and the ranch.

His sickness had changed him in certain subtle ways. He had less to say than formerly, did not mention Barber, did not ask after Cis, and jiggled one foot constantly, as if he were on the point of again jumping up and taking flight. Father Pat gone, he brightened considerably as he discussed the departed guest. "Soldier, eh!" he exclaimed. "Wal, young feller, I'll say this preachin' gent ain't no ev'ryday, tenderfoot parson! No, ma'am! He's got savvy!"

He was politely attentive, if not enthusiastic, when Johnnie told him more about Mr. Perkins, the future scout dwelling especially upon that rosy time which would see him in uniform ("but how I'm goin' t' get that, I don't know"). Johnnie did all the setting-up exercises for the Westerner, too; and, as a final touch, displayed for his inspection an indisputably clean neck!

But Johnnie had saved till the last the crowning news of all. And he felt certain that if the cowboy had shown not more than a lively interest in Father Pat, and had been only politely heedful regarding boy scouts, things would be altogether different when he heard about the engagement.

"One-Eye," began Johnnie, impressively, "I got somethin' _else_ t' tell y'. Oh, it's somethin' that'll su'prise y' _awful_! What d' y' think it is?"

One-Eye was in the morris chair at the time, his hat on, his single organ of vision roving the kitchen. In particular, it roved in the direction of the tiny room, where, through the open door, could be seen dimly the gay paper flounces bedecking Cis's dressing-table. "Aw, I dunno," he answered dully.

"But, _guess_, One-Eye!" persisted Johnnie, eager to fire the cowboy's curiosity. "Guess! And I'll help y' out by tellin' y' this much: it's 'bout Cis."

Ah! That caught the interest! Johnnie could tell by the way that single eye came shooting round to hold his own. "Yeh?" exclaimed the Westerner.

"Wal--? Wal--?" He leaned forward almost impatiently.

"Cis and Mister Perkins 're goin' t' be married."

One-Eye continued to stare; and Johnnie saw the strangest expression come into the green eye. Anger seemed a part of that expression, and instantly Johnnie regretted having shared the news (but why _should_ the cowboy be angry?) Also there was pain in the look. Then did One-Eye disapprove?

At this last thought, Johnnie hastened to explain how things stood in the flat. "Big Tom, he don't know they're goin' t' be married," he said, "and we'd be 'fraid t' tell him."

"I--I savvy." Now One-Eye studied the floor. Presently, as if he were busy with his thoughts, he reached up and dragged his hat far down over his blind eye. The hat settled, he settled himself--lower and lower in the big chair, his shoulders doubling, his knees falling apart, his clasped hands hanging between his knees and all but touching his boots.

Thus he stayed for a little, bowed.

All this was so different from what Johnnie had expected that again he suspected displeasure--toward Cis, toward himself; and as with a sinking, miserable heart he watched his visitor, he wished from his soul that he had kept the engagement to himself. "Y' ain't g-g-glad," he stammered finally.

However, as Johnnie afterward remarked to Cis, when it came to judging what the cowboy felt about this or that, a person never could tell. For, "Glad?" repeated One-Eye, raising the bent head; "w'y, sonny, I'm tickled t' death t' hear it!--jes' plumb tickled t' death!" (And how was Johnnie to know that this was not strictly the truth?)

The next afternoon, while Father Pat was reading aloud the story of the Sangreal, here entered One-Eye again, stern purpose in the very upturning of that depleted mustache. "Figgered mebbe I could ask y' t'

do somethin' fer me," he told the priest. "It's concernin' that scout proposition o' Johnnie's. Seems like he'll be needin' a uniform pretty soon, won't he? Wondered if y'd mind pur-_chasin'_ it." Then down upon the kitchen table he tossed a number of crisp, green bills.

Stunned at sight of so much money, paralyzed with emotion, and tongue-tied, Johnnie could only stare. Afterward he remembered, with a bothersome, worried feeling, that he had not thanked One-Eye before the latter took his leave along with Father Pat. That night on the roof he walked up and down while he whispered his grat.i.tude to a One-Eye who was a think. "Oh, it just stuck in my throat, kind of," he explained. "Oh, I'm sorry I acted so funny!" (Why did the words of appreciation simply flow from between his lips now? though he had not been able to whisper one at the proper time!)

That night, wearing the uniform he had not yet seen, he took a long pretend-walk; but not along any street of the East Side; not even up Fifth Avenue. He chose a garden set thick with trees. There was a lake in the garden; and wonderful birds flew about--parrots, they were, like the ones owned by Crusoe. For a new suit of an ordinary kind, any thoroughfare of the city might have done well enough. But the new uniform demanded a special setting. And this place of enchantment was Mr. Rockefeller's private park!

It seemed as if the night would never go! Next morning, it seemed as if Big Tom would never go, nor the Father come. But at an early hour the latter did appear, panting, in his arms a large pasteboard box. At sight of that box, Johnnie felt almost faint. But when the string was cut, and the cover taken off, disclosing a crisp, clean, khaki uniform, with little, breathless cries, and excited exclamations, yes, and with wet lashes, he caught the gift up in his arms and held it against him, embracing it. It was his! His! Oh, the overwhelming joy of knowing it was his!

Though there was, of course, a chance that another strike might happen, and Big Tom come trudging home, nevertheless Johnnie could not resist the temptation of donning the precious outfit, seeing himself in it, and showing himself to the Father. But first he took a thorough hand-wash, this to guard against soiling a new garment; to insure against surprise while he was putting the clothes on, he scurried into Cis's room with the armful, leaving Father Pat in the morris chair, from where the latter called out advice now and again.

On went everything. Not without mistakes, however, and some fumbling, in the poor light, over strange fastenings (all of Johnnie's fingers had turned into thumbs). The Father had done his part particularly well, and the suit fitted nicely. So did the leggings, so soon as Johnnie, discovering that he had them on upside down, inverted them. The b.u.t.toning and the belting, the lacing and the knotting, at an end, he put on the hat. But was undecided as to whether or not he should wear it at a slant of forty-five degrees, as One-Eye wore his, or straight, as was Mr. Perkins's custom. Finally he chose the latter fashion, took a long breath, like a swimmer coming up out of the depths, and--walked forth in a pair of squeaking brown shoes.

How different from the usual Johnnie Smith he looked! He had lost that curious chunky appearance which Barber's old clothes gave him, and which was so misleading. On the other hand, his thin arms and pipelike legs were concealed, respectively, by becoming cloth and canvas. As for his body, it was slender, and lithe. And how straight he stood! And how smart was his appearance! And how tall he seemed!

The priest threw up astonished hands. "Shure," he cried, "and is this annybody I know?"

"Oh, it is! I am!" declared Johnnie, flushing under the brim of the olive-drab hat. "It's me, Father Pat! Oh, my! Do I look fine? D' y' like it?"

Grandpa did, for he was circling Johnnie, cackling with excitement. "Oh, go fetch Mother!" he pleaded. "Go fetch Mother!--Oh, Mother, hurry up!

Come and see Johnnie!"

The Father walked in circles too, exclaiming and admiring. "It can't be a certain little lad who lives in the Barber flat," he puzzled. "So who can it be? No, I don't know this small soldier, and I'll thank ye if ye'll introduce me!"

"Oh," answered Johnnie, "I ain't 'zac'ly sure I'm myself! Oh, Father Pat, isn't it wonderful?--and I know I've got it 'cause I can take hold of it, and _smell_ it! Oh, my goodness!" A feeling possessed him which he had never had before--a feeling of pride in his personal appearance.

With it came a sense of self-respect. "And _I_ seem t' be new, and clean, and fine," he added, "jus' like the clothes!"

"Ye're a wee gentleman!" a.s.serted the Father; "--a soldier and a gentleman!" And he saluted Johnnie.

Johnnie returned the salute--twice! Whereupon Grandpa fell to saluting, and calling out commands in his quavering old voice, and trying to stand upon his slippered feet.

In the midst of all the uproar, "Oh, One-Eye! One-Eye! One-Eye!" For here, piling one happiness upon another, here was the cowboy, staggering in under the weight of a huge, ice-cold watermelon.

"That's my name!" returned the Westerner, grinning. "But y' better take the eggs outen my pockets 'fore ye grab me like that. Y' know eggs can bust."

When the eggs were rescued, along with a whole pound of b.u.t.ter, Johnnie saluted One-Eye. Next, he held out his hand. "Oh, I--I think you're awful good," he declared (he had thought up this much of his speech the night before on the roof).

One-Eye waved him away as if he were a fly, and said "Bosh!" a great many times as Johnnie tried to continue. Finally, to change the subject, the cowboy broke into that sad song about his mother, which stopped any further attempt to thank him.

"I'll tell y' what," he declared when Johnnie's mind was at last completely diverted from his polite intention; "they's jes' one thing shy. Yeppie, one. What y' need now is a nice, fine, close hair cut."

"At a--at a barber's?" Johnnie asked, already guessing the answer.

"Come along!"

"Oh, One-Eye!" gasped Johnnie. (Oh, the glory of going out in the uniform! and with the cowboy! And how would he ever be able to take the new suit off!) "But if I wear it out, and _he_ sees me, and----"

One-Eye was at the door, ready to lead the way. (Father Pat would stay behind with Grandpa.) The cowboy turned half about. "If Barber was t'

find out," he answered, "and so much as laid a little finger on that suit, he'd have t' settle matters with _me_. Come!"

Like one in an enchanted dream, Johnnie followed on in his stiff, new shoes. It was noon, and as they emerged from the dark hallway which led into the main street to the north, the sidewalks were aswarm. Indeed, the doorstep which gave from the hall to the pave was itself planted thick with citizens of a.s.sorted sizes. To get out, One-Eye lifted his spurred boots high over the heads of two small people. But Johnnie, doffing the scout hat with practiced art, "'Scuse me, please," he begged, in perfect imitation of Mr. Perkins; and in very awe fully six of the seated, having given a backward glance, and spied that uniform, rose precipitately to let him by.

"Johnnie Barber!" gasped some one. "What d' y' know!" demanded another.

From a third came a long, low whistle of amazement.

Johnnie's ears stung pleasantly. "Hear 'em?" he asked One-Eye. "Course they mean me!"

"Ad-mi-ra-tion," p.r.o.nounced the cowboy, who always took his big words thus, a syllable at a time. "Sonny, y've knocked 'em all pie-eyed!"

The barber shop was not nearly so regal as that restaurant of fond and glorious memory. Yet in its way it was splendid; and it was most interesting, what with its lean-back chairs, man-high mirrors, huge stacks of towels, lines of glittering bottles, and rows of shaving mugs (this being a neighborhood shop). And how deliciously it smelled!

It was a little, dark gentleman in a gleaming white coat who waved Johnnie into one of the chairs--from which, his eyes wide and eager, the latter viewed himself as never before, from his bare head to his knees, and scarcely knew himself!