An’ say—Hold on, Cal. Don’t hang up.—Hello!”

“Hello!” replied Cal. “I’m still on, but in a hurry.”

A much lower-toned and hoarser voice continued breathlessly: “Cal, she was jest in here before you called. I seen her. She’s wearin’ socks! Anyway, I seen her bare knees—they’re pink—an’ so help me Moses they’re painted! Cal, she’s shore some—”

“Shut up!” roared Cal, in sudden fury at what he thought his friend’s badinage. “You can’t josh me. You’re a liar, Abe Hazelitt. The boys have put you on.”

“Naw, Cal, I hope to die,” replied Abe, apparently bursting with glee. “I ain’t been put on to nothin’. But I shore know what’s a-comin’ to you, Cal Thurman.”

In mingled anger, fear, and consternation Cal slammed up the receiver and rushed away from the telephone.

“Pink knees! . . . Painted! . . .” fumed Cal. “The idea! What that outfit can’t think of is sure beyond me. . . . Abe, now, they rung him in on it. An’ he knows what’s comin’ to me, huh? . . . All right, boys, I guess none of you savvy what Tuck Merry has up his sleeve. This is sure goin’ to end in a fight.”

CHAPTER

3

CAL THURMAN did not have very much time to ruminate over the mysterious intimations that had been suggested by his talk with Abe Hazelitt on the telephone. For he had scarcely left the post office, to walk down the road toward the garage, when he espied the boys from Green Valley. They were grouped with the garage mechanics round his Ford car. If Cal had needed any more to rouse his ire, this fact was enough.

He approached them with long strides. Upon nearer view he found, to his amaze, that the boys were clean-shaven, and all had donned spick-and-span new suits of overalls, and wore their Sunday sombreros and shiny boots. Wonderful to see, Arizona, who was noted for his slovenly dress, appeared arrayed as the others, and he positively shone.

“Howdy, Cal! I’m shore congratulatin’ you,” drawled Wess, placidly indicating the Ford car.

“Pard Cal, yore some driver,” added Arizona.

“Good day, Cal.