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And the man who would send his dog to the Dog Show, would send his wife to a Wife Show, and permit his baby to be exhibited, in public, for a blue ribbon or a certificate at an admission-fee of fifty cents a head! Mop's successor answers to the name of Roy when he answers to anything at all. He is young, very wilful, and a little hard of hearing, of which latter affliction he makes the most.

Mop's fiddle thereupon emitted an elfin shriek of finality; stepping quickly down from the nine-gallon beer-cask which had formed his rostrum, he went to the little girl, who disconsolately bent over her mother.

As the Comedian's one eye rested upon the last, he exclaimed, "But after all, Mop's great strength will probably be in arithmetic, and the science of numbers is the root of all wisdom. Besides, every man, high and low, wants to make a fortune, and associations connected with addition and multiplication are always pleasing. Who, then, is the sage at computation most universally known?

"Stay where you are," yelled Ben. "Take your count, Larry, and keep away from him. Do you hear me? Keep away, always away." At the ninth count Larry sprang to his feet, easily eluded Mop's swinging blow, and slipping lightly around the ring, escaped further attack until he had picked up his wind. "That's the game," yelled Ben. "Keep it up, old boy, keep it up."

And when a bottle of very rare old brandy, kept for some extraordinary occasion of festivity, was missing, the master was informed that it had been used in rubbing Mop! Mop's early personal history was never known. Told once that he was the purest Dandie in America, and asked his pedigree, his master was moved to look into the matter of his family tree.

The cat weighed more than Mop did, and was very gamy. And the encounter nearly cost a lawsuit. This was Mop's last public appearance. He retired to his bed before the kitchen range, and gradually and slowly he faded away: amiable, unrepining, devoted to the end.

He was also conscious of a rising resentment against Mop's exultant tone and manner. "I bet you," he said, "if Larry wanted to, he could lick Joe even if he had both hands, but if Joe's one hand is tied behind his back, why Larry would just whale the tar out of him. But Larry does not want to fight." "No," jeered Mop, "you bet he don't, he ain't got it in him.

He turned from Joe and looked at the boy who was tormenting him. Mop was at least four years older, strongly and heavily built. For a moment Larry stood as though estimating Mop's fighting qualities.

"C'est bon stuff, Larree," yelled Joe, dancing wildly in Ben's corner. "C'est bon stuff, Larree, for sure." But once more master of his wind, Larry renewed his battering assault upon Mop's head, inflicting some damage indeed, but receiving heavy punishment in return. The close of the round found him exhausted and bleeding.

Still Ben sat with fixed gaze. "By gum, he's in, boys," said Ben in a low voice. "I thought he had his nest in one of them stubs." "What is it in what stub?" inquired Larry, his voice shrill with excitement. "That big middle stub, there," said Ben. "It's a woodpecker. Say, let's pull down and see it." Under Mop's direction the old scow gradually made its way toward the big stub.