When I saw that he wasn’t after Miss Willella， I had moreendurable contemplations of that sandy-haired snoozer. Inorder to help out the ambitions of his appetite I kept ontrying to get that receipt from Miss Willella. But every time Iwould say ‘pancakes’ she would get sort of remote and fidgetyabout the eye， and try to change the subject. If I held her toit she would slide out and round up Uncle Emsley with hispitcher of water and hip-pocket howitzer.
“One day I galloped over to the store with a fine bunchof blue verbenas that I cut out of a herd of wild flowersover on Poisoned Dog Prairie. Uncle Emsley looked at ’emwith one eye shut and says：
“‘Haven’t ye heard the news？’
“‘Cattle up？’ I asks.
“‘Willella and Jackson Bird was married in Palestineyesterday，’ says he. ‘Just got a letter this morning.’
“I dropped them flowers in a cracker-barrel， and let thenews trickle in my ears and down toward my upper lefthandshirt pocket until it got to my feet.
“‘Would you mind saying that over again once more，Uncle Emsley？’ says I. ‘Maybe my hearing has got wrong，and you only said that prime heifers was 4.80 on the hoof，or something like that.’
“‘Married yesterday，’ says Uncle Emsley， ‘and gone toWaco and Niagara Falls on a wedding tour. Why， didn’tyou see none of the signs all along？ Jackson Bird has beencourting Willella ever since that day he took her outriding.’
“‘Then，’ says I， in a kind of yell， ‘what was all thiszizzaparoola he gives me about pancakes？ Tell me that.’
“When I said ‘pancakes’ Uncle Emsley sort of dodgedand stepped back.
“‘Somebody’s been dealing me pancakes from the bottomof the deck，’ I says， ‘and I’ll find out. I believe you know.
Talk up，’ says I， ‘or we’ll mix a panful of batter right here.’
“I slid over the counter after Uncle Emsley. He grabbedat his gun， but it was in a drawer， and he missed it twoinches. I got him by the front of his shirt and shoved himin a corner.
“‘Talk pancakes，’ says I， ‘or be made into one. Does MissWillella make ’em？’
“‘She never made one in her life and I never saw one，’
says Uncle Emsley， soothing. ‘Calm down now， Jud—calmdown. You’ve got excited， and that wound in your head iscontaminating your sense of intelligence. Try not to thinkabout pancakes.’
“‘Uncle Emsley，’ says I， ‘I’m not wounded in the headexcept so far as my natural cognitive instincts run torunts. Jackson Bird told me he was calling on Miss Willellafor the purpose of finding out her system of producingpancakes， and he asked me to help him get the bill oflading of the ingredients. I done so， with the results as yousee. Have I been sodded down with Johnson grass by apink-eyed snoozer， or what？’
“‘Slack up your grip in my dress shirt，’ says Uncle Emsley，‘and I’ll tell you. Yes， it looks like Jackson Bird has goneand humbugged you some. The day after he went ridingwith Willella he came back and told me and her to watchout for you whenever you got to talking about pancakes.
He said you was in camp once where they was cookingflapjacks， and one of the fellows cut you over the headwith a frying pan. Jackson said that whenever you gotoverhot or excited that wound hurt you and made you kindof crazy， and you went raving about pancakes. He told us tojust get you worked off of the subject and soothed down，and you wouldn’t be dangerous. So， me and Willella donethe best by you we knew how. Well， well，’ says Uncle Emsley，‘that Jackson Bird is sure a seldom kind of a snoozer.’”
During the progress of Jud’s story he had been slowlybut deftly combining certain portions of the contents ofhis sacks and cans. Toward the close of it he set beforeme the finished product—a pair of red-hot， rich-huedpancakes on a tin plate. From some secret hoarding he alsobrought a lump of excellent butter and a bottle of goldensyrup.
“How long ago did these things happen？” I asked him.
“Three years，” said Jud. “They’re living on the MiredMule Ranch now. But I haven’t seen either of ’em since.
They say Jackson Bird was fixing his ranch up fine withrocking chairs and window curtains all the time he wasputting me up the pancake tree. Oh， I got over it after awhile. But the boys kept the racket up.”
“Did you make these cakes by the famous recipe？” Iasked.
“Didn’t I tell you there wasn’t no receipt？” said Jud. “Theboys hollered pancakes till they got pancake hungry， andI cut this recipe out of a newspaper. How does the trucktaste？”
“They’re delicious，” I answered. “Why don’t you havesome， too， Jud？”
I was sure I heard a sigh.
“Me？” said Jud. “I don’t ever eat ’em.”