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They were due to arrive at four o'clock, and expected to remain in town for ten days before going up to the cool hills. The closing sentences of the pickpocket's note were quaintly satirical: "Brad says he can't afford to be seen in my company. You know how politely he would say it, don't you? He says he can't take chances now.
Mr. Cleves gained much applause for his well-considered wish that all that has been written in the world, all books and libraries, could be destroyed, so as to give a chance to the new men and the fresh ideas of the new era." "My dear sir," said Brad, who did not like this caricature of his friends, "you don't make any allowance for the eccentricities of genius."
One bear, surely new to the business, kept walking up and down, up and down, moaning, in an abandon of homesickness. Brad Freeman stood before the cage when I was there. "Say, Brad," said the Crane boy, slipping his arm into the hunter's, in a good-fellowship sure to be reciprocated. "Davie Tolman said you's goin' to fetch over your fox, an' sell him to the circus. Be you?"
Brad Stearns turned the head of his horse toward the rocks and shouted. "Hello, Tom! You there?" No answer came from the rocks. "Don't prove a thing," West broke out impatiently. "This fellow's got Tom buffaloed. Didn't he make him smash the barrels? Didn't he take away his six-gun from him and bring him along like he hadn't any mind of his own? Tom's yellow. Got a streak a foot wide."
He laughed, without mirth or geniality. "If you don't beat Old Nick, Brad. I wonder was you ever out an' out straightforward in yore life. Just once?" "I don't reckon you sure enough feel that way, Dug," whined the older man ingratiatingly. "Far as that goes, I'm not making any claims that I love my enemies. But you can't say I throw off on my friends. You always know where I'm at."
Not far away some one was whistling cheerfully. Clanton recognized the tune as the usual musical offertory of Brad. He was giving "Uncle Ned" to an unappreciative world. The fugitive crept up the steps and peered over the top. Brad was sitting on a bench against the wall. Evidently he was quite comfortable and had no intention of moving.
The building committee were E.P. Robinson, Gilbert Waldron, J.W. Thomas, H.B. Newhall, Wilbur F. Newhall, Augustus B. Davis, George N. Miller, George H. Hull, Louis P. Hawkes, William F. Hitchings, E.E. Wilson, Warren P. Copp, David Knox, A. Brad. Edmunds and Henry Sprague. E.P. Robinson was chosen chairman and David Knox secretary.
He was so impressed by the ability and manifold accomplishments of Mr. Brad that he thought it a pity for him to travel that road, and one day he asked him why he did not go in for literature. "Literature!" exclaimed Mr. Brad, with some irritation; "I starved on literature for a year. Who does live on it, till he gets beyond the necessity of depending on it?
Keep that in your mind and you can make a popular newspaper. Only," continued Mr. Brad, reflectively, "you've got to hit a lot of different tastes." "You'd laugh," this artist in emotions went on, after a little pause, "at some of my assignments. There was a run awhile ago on elopements, and my assignment was to have one every Monday morning.
I'd make old Barnum look like a two-spot. Did you ever see more beautiful sunshine, Dick? Now, did you?" "That's not the sun, Brad," said Dick, removing his pipe from his lips. "That's a canvasman with a torch." They had arrived at the lot. Braddock swore a mighty oath, and with jovial good-humor chucked Dick in the ribs, not very gently, it may be supposed.
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