My brother and I had lived together for many years, years of fat kine and years of lean, but I couldn’t recall a single instance when he had considered the opinion of Mrs. Grundy.  In coming to California, to a rough life on a cattle ranch, we had virtually snapped our fingers beneath the dame’s nose.  I mention this because it sheds light upon what follows.

“The neighbours, Jasperson,” replied Ajax, “will say some deuced unpleasant things.  But I think I can promise you the sympathy of the men, and your ranch is fifteen miles from a petticoat.”

“I dassn’t break it off, gen’lemen, not by word of mouth; but—­but we might write.”

“And lay yourself open to a breach of promise case and heavy damages.  No—­I’ve a better plan than that.  We’ll make Miss Dutton release you.  She shall do the writing this time.”

“Boys,” said Jasperson solemnly, “she’ll never do it—­never!  Her mind is sot on merridge.  I see it all now.  She hypnotised me, by golly!  I swear she did!  That eye of hers is a corker.”

“What night are you to be initiated?” asked Ajax, with seeming irrelevance.

“Next Toosday,” replied the neophyte nervously.

“You have never, I believe, been on a spree?”

“Never, gen’lemen—­never.”

“They tell me,” said Ajax softly, “that our village whisky, the sheep-herders’ delight, will turn a pet lamb into a roaring lion.”

“It’s pizon,” said Jasperson,—­“jest pizon.”

“You, Jasperson, need a violent stimulant.  On Tuesday afternoon, my boy, you and I will go on a mild spree.  I don’t like sprees any more than you do, but I see no other way of cutting this knot.  Now, mark me, not a word to Miss Dutton.  It’s late, so—­good-night.”

Between May-day and the following Tuesday but little transpired worth recording.  Miss Dutton sent the convert a bulky package of tracts, with certain scathing passages marked—­obviously for our benefit—­in red ink; and we learned from Alethea-Belle that the initiation of Jasper Jasperson was to be made an occasion of much rejoicing, and that an immense attendance was expected at Corona Lodge.  The storekeeper asked Ajax outright if there were truth in the rumour that we were to be decorated with the blue ribbon, and my brother hinted mysteriously that even stranger things than that might happen.  Jasperson complained of insomnia, but he said several times that he would never forget what Ajax was doing on his behalf, and I don’t think he ever will.  For my part I maintained a strict neutrality.  Ethically considered, I was sensible that my brother’s actions were open to severe criticism; at the same time, I was certain that mild measures would not have prevailed.