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I trust that women may not be allowed a title to all the curiosity in the world. Uncle Abner was the Complete History of Montopolis, bound in butternut. "O'Bader," he quavered, "come here in '69. He was the first shoemaker in the place. Folks generally considers him crazy at times now. But he don't harm nobody. I s'pose drinkin' upset his mind yes, drinkin' very likely done it.
"Why, yes," said the judge. "And that reminds me of my shoes he has for mending. Here is his shop now." Judge Hoover stepped into a dingy, small shop. I looked up at the sign, and saw "Mike O'Bader, Boot and Shoe Maker," on it. Some wild geese passed above, honking clearly. I scratched my ear and frowned, and then trailed into the shop.
I inquired. "Whiskey," epitomized Judge Hoover. "That explains him." I was silent, but I did not accept the explanation. And so, when I had the chance, I asked old man Sellers, who browsed daily on my exchanges. "Mike O'Bader," said he, "was makin' shoes in Montopolis when I come here goin' on fifteen year ago. I guess whiskey's his trouble. Once a month he gets off the track, and stays so a week.
I could not yet accept whiskey as an explanation. "Did Mike O'Bader ever have a great loss or trouble of any kind?" I asked. "Lemme see! About thirty year ago there was somethin' of the kind, I recollect. Montopolis, sir, in them days used to be a mighty strict place. "Well, Mike O'Bader had a daughter then a right pretty girl.
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