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Baldy Woods reached for the bottle, and got it. Whenever Baldy wentfor anything he usually—but this is not Baldy's story. He poured out athird drink that was larger by a finger than the first and second.Baldy was in consultation; and the consultee is worthy of his hire.

"I'd be king if I was you," said Baldy, so positively that hisholster creaked and his spurs rattled.

Webb Yeager pushed back his flat-brimmed Stetson, and made furtherdisorder in his straw-coloured hair. The tonsorial recourse beingwithout avail, he followed the liquid example of the more resourcefulBaldy.

"If a man marries a queen, it oughtn't to make him a two-spot,"declared Webb, epitomising his grievances.

"Sure not," said Baldy, sympathetic, still thirsty, and genuinelysolicitous concerning the relative value of the cards. "By rightsyou're a king. If I was you, I'd call for a new deal. The cards havebeen stacked on you—I'll tell you what you are, Webb Yeager."

"What?" asked Webb, with a hopeful look in his pale-blue eyes.

"You're a prince-consort."

"Go easy," said Webb. "I never blackguarded you none."

"It's a title," explained Baldy, "up among the picture-cards; but itdon't take no tricks. I'll tell you, Webb. It's a brand they're got forcertain animals in Europe. Say that you or me or one of them Dutchdukes marries in a royal family. Well, by and by our wife gets to bequeen. Are we king? Not in a million years. At the coronationceremonies we march between little casino and the Ninth Grand Custodianof the Royal Hall Bedchamber. The only use we are is to appear inphotographs, and accept the responsibility for the heir-apparent. Thatain't any square deal. Yes, sir, Webb, you're a prince-consort; and ifI was you, I'd start a interregnum or a habeus corpus or somethin'; andI'd be king if I had to turn from the bottom of the deck."