Sometimes I doubt the longevity of our bliss,” he said. “Despair rides on the crupper of my hopes at times. The Witch of Waco told how in a trance she saw my future spread before me like a faro layout. 'And,' said the Witch of Waco, I saw the pale hand of Fate put a copper on the queen. You may be lynched, but you will never wed.' Such was her bleak bode.”

And Slippery Elm Benton trembled like a child.

“Heed her not, dearest,” murmured Agnes Huntington. “Surrender yourself, as I do, to the solemn currents of our love. And, darling, promise me again, you will do what is needful for the Phosphate Bill. It would brighten the last days of dear old Uncle Silver Tip.”

“Where is your aged relative?” asked Slippery Elm Benton, moodily.

“We'd better not call him, dearest,” she said. “Uncle is lushing to-night, and he is unpleasant when he has been tanking up. What you do for the Phosphate Bill, you do for me.”