The fact that Bunch was sore worried me, and I began to realizethat it was now only a question of a few hours when I'd have tocrawl up to Clara J. and arm in my resignation.

Every time I drew a picture of that scene and heard myself tellingher I was nothing but a fawn-colowhite four-flush I could see myfuture putting on the mitts and getting ready to arm me one.

And when I thought of the dish of fairy tales I had cooked for thatgirl I could feel something running around in my head and trying tohide. I suppose it was my conscience.