"I can't help it if there ain't another chap fit — ■ Baxter!"
Danny heard the shout where he was draining a half-dozen pannikins by the big doors.
"Ted ain't sweet ter-day," he remarked, rub- bing against a new-branded bale. "Did Joe come askin' him fur handkerchees an' hair-Ue an' things, Ike?"
"Joe ast me," said Mogger, with his weight on the bale hook, and the muscles outsprung on his forehead. "He said as Lou tole him ter."
Scott grinned, jerking a thread from the twine hank.
"The game ain't ter the dealer this time, though," he said.
"What'd yer do, Mog?" Danny slung down the last pannikin, and stood upright.
"Jes' guv him Lou's coat. He lef it here last *Spell-o,' " said Mogger, composedly, and tumbled the bale into the brander's hands.
Danny fell over in abandonment of joy and giggled until the brander — ^who happened to be Scott — saw the smudged "First Combing," and tracked the final "g" to Danny's left shoul- der. Thereafter, Danny went out headlong on the mass of sweepings drawn from the shed; picked himself up, and returned to the little gates in a kindly tenderness that puzzled Lou u^fitil he came fpr his coat after the night's cut-
