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