“It was five days afterward when I got another chanceto ride over to Pimienta. Miss Willella and me passed agratifying evening at Uncle Emsley’s. She sang some， andexasperated the piano quite a lot with quotations fromthe operas. I gave imitations of a rattlesnake， and toldher about Snaky McFee’s new way of skinning cows， anddescribed the trip I made to Saint Louis once. We wasgetting along in one another’s estimations fine. Thinks I，if Jackson Bird can now be persuaded to migrate， I win.
I recollect his promise about the pancake receipt， and Ithinks I will persuade it from Miss Willella and give it tohim； and then if I catches Birdie off of Mired Mule again，I’ll make him hop the twig.
“So， along about ten o’clock， I put on a wheedling smileand says to Miss Willella： ‘Now， if there’s anything I dolike better than the sight of a red steer on green grass it’sthe taste of a nice hot pancake smothered in sugar-housemolasses.’
“Miss Willella gives a little jump on the piano stool， andlooked at me curious.
“‘Yes，’ says she， ‘they’re real nice. What did you say wasthe name of that street in Saint Louis， Mr. Odom， whereyou lost your hat？’
“‘Pancake Avenue，’ says I， with a wink， to show her thatI was on about the family receipt， and couldn’t be sidecorralledoff of the subject. ‘Come， now， Miss Willella，’
I says； ‘let’s hear how you make ’em. Pancakes is justwhirling in my head like wagon wheels. Start her off，now—pound of flour， eight dozen eggs， and so on. Howdoes the catalogue of constituents run？’
“‘Excuse me for a moment， please，’ says Miss Willella，and she gives me a quick kind of sideways look， andslides off the stool. She ambled out into the other room，and directly Uncle Emsley comes in in his shirt sleeves，with a pitcher of water. He turns around to get a glass onthe table， and I see a forty-five in his hip pocket. ‘Greatpost-holes！’ thinks I， ‘but here’s a family thinks a heap ofcooking receipts， protecting it with firearms. I’ve knownoutfits that wouldn’t do that much by a family feud.’
“‘Drink this here down，’ says Uncle Emsley， handing methe glass of water. ‘You’ve rid too far to-day， Jud， and gotyourself over-excited. Try to think about something elsenow.’
“‘Do you know how to make them pancakes， UncleEmsley？’ I asked.
“‘Well， I’m not as apprised in the anatomy of them assome，’ says Uncle Emsley， ‘but I reckon you take a sifter ofplaster of Paris and a little dough and saleratus and cornmeal， and mix ’em with eggs and buttermilk as usual. Is oldBill going to ship beeves to Kansas City again this spring，Jud？’
“That was all the pancake specifications I could get thatnight. I didn’t wonder that Jackson Bird found it uphillwork. So I dropped the subject and talked with UncleEmsley for a while about hollow-horn and cyclones. Andthen Miss Willella came and said ‘Good-night，’ and I hitthe breeze for the ranch.
“About a week afterward I met Jackson Bird riding outof Pimienta as I rode in， and we stopped on the road for afew frivolous remarks.
“‘Got the bill of particulars for them flapjacks yet？’ Iasked him.
“‘Well， no，’ says Jackson. ‘I don’t seem to have anysuccess in getting hold of it. Did you try？’
“‘I did，’ says I， ‘and ’twas like trying to dig a prairie dogout of his hole with a peanut hull. That pancake receiptmust be a jookalorum， the way they hold on to it.’
“‘I’m most ready to give it up，’ says Jackson， so discouragedin his pronunciations that I felt sorry for him； ‘but I didwant to know how to make them pancakes to eat on mylonely ranch，’ says he. ‘I lie awake at nights thinking howgood they are.’
“‘You keep on trying for it，’ I tells him， ‘and I’ll do thesame. One of us is bound to get a rope over its hornsbefore long. Well， so-long， Jacksy.’
“You see， by this time we were on the peacefullest of terms.