Amazement at what I saw happening in the heavens took me from things on earth, and I was unaware of the universal fit that now seized upon Cheyenne until I heard the high cry of Jode at my ear.  His usual punctilious bearing had forsaken him, and he shouted alike to stranger and acquaintance:  “It is no half-inch, sir!  Don’t you tell me"’ And the crowd would swallow him, but you could mark his vociferous course as he went proclaiming to the world.  “A failure, sir!  The fellow’s an impostor, as I well knew.  It’s no half-inch!” Which was true.

“What have you got to say to that?” we asked Hilbrun, swarming around him.

“If you’ll just keep cool,” said he—­“it’s only the first instalment.  In about two hours and a half I’ll give you the rest.”

Soon after four the dropsical clouds materialized once again above open-mouthed Cheyenne.  No school let out for an unexpected holiday, no herd of stampeded range cattle, conducts itself more miscellaneously.  Gray, respectable men, with daughters married, leaped over fences and sprang back, prominent legislators hopped howling up and down door-steps, women waved handkerchiefs from windows and porches, the chattering Jode flew from anemometer to rain-gauge, and old Judge Burrage apostrophized Providence in his front yard, with the postmaster’s label still pinned to his back.  Nobody minded the sluicing downpour—­this second instalment was much more of a thing than the first—­and Hilbrun alone kept a calm exterior—­the face of the man who lifts a heavy dumb-bell and throws an impressive glance at the audience.  Assistant Lusk was by no means thus proof against success I saw him put a bottle back in his pocket, his face already disintegrated with a tipsy leer.  Judge Burrage, perceiving the rain-maker, came out of his gate and proceeded toward him, extending the hand of congratulation.  “Mr. Hilbrun,” said he, “I am Judge Burrage—­the Honorable T. Coleman Burrage—­and I will say that I am most favorably impressed with your shower.”

“His shower!” yelped Jode, flourishing measurements.

“Why, yu’ don’t claim it’s yourn, do yu’?” said Lin McLean, grinning.

“I tell you it’s no half-inch yet, gentlemen,” said Jode, ignoring the facetious puncher.

“You’re mistaken,” said Hilbrun, sharply.

“It’s a plumb big show, half-inch or no half-inch,” said Lin.

“If he’s short he don’t get his money,” said some ignoble subscriber

“Yes, he will,” said the Governor, “or I’m a short.  He’s earned it.”

“You bet “’ said Lin.  “Fair and square.  If they’re goin’ back on yu’, doctor, I’ll chip—­Shucks!” Lin’s hand fell from the empty pocket; he remembered his wad in the stake-holder’s hands, and that he now possessed possibly two dollars in silver, all told.  “I can’t chip in, doctor,” he said.  “That hobo over there has won my cash, an’ he’s filling up on the prospect right now.  I don’t care!  It’s the biggest show I’ve ever saw.  You’re a dandy, Mr. Hilbrun!  Whoop!” And Lin clapped the rain-maker on the shoulder, exulting.  He had been too well entertained to care what he had in his pocket, and his wife had not yet occurred to him.