I tried to drag
him away, and failed miserably. I'll be hanged if he didn't get hold
of a six-shooter, and threatened to fill me with lead if I interfered.
He told the boys he was going to join the lodge. That was the dominant
note. He was going to join the lodge. He had come to town on purpose.
How they cheered him! Then that scoundrel Jake Williams was inspired
by Satan to ask him if he was provided with an initiation robe. And he
actually persuaded Jasperson to remove his beautiful black clothes and
to array himself in a Sonora blanket. Then they striped his poor white
face with black and red paint, till he looked like an Apache.
Honestly, I did my level best to quash the proceedings: I might as
well have tried to bale out the Pacific with a pitchfork. At a
quarter-past seven the Swiggarts drove into Paradise, and I wish you
could have seen the Grand Secretary's face. She had no idea,
naturally, that her Jasper was the artist so busily engaged in
decorating the village. But she knew there was an awful row on, and I
fancy she rather gloried in her own saintliness. Presently the lodge
filled up, and I could see Miss Birdie standing on the porch looking
anxiously around for the candidate.
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