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“All right. Come along,” said Kenneth, with sudden resolve.

The farmer rode a time in silent thought. He could not go fast, for the beast was very lame. Finally he remarked:

“Ef ye buy up the sign painters, so’s ye can wash off the letters, like enough ye’ll hev to pay him fer th’ paint an’ paintin’, too.”

“I don’t mind,” was the response.

The farmer chuckled. Here was an interesting adventure, for a fact. What on earth could possess the “young ‘un” from Elmhurst to object to signs, and be willing to pay for having them erased?

“Like enough ye’ll hev to pay back the money the soap an’ medicine men guv th’ painter, too,” he hazarded.

“Like enough,” said Kenneth, grimly.

One of his stubborn moods had seized him. At all hazards he was resolved to eliminate those ugly signs.

He got the name of the sign painter, accepted a glass of buttermilk at the farm house, and then rode slowly home by another route, so that he might not have to face the signs again.

But on this route he saw even more. They were painted on the fences and barns as he passed along. He scowled at each one, but they did not appear to him quite so inharmonious as those which marred the more picturesque and retired spots which were his favorite haunts.