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This brought Artie from his trance sufficiently to cause him to turn his attention to Cary, but it was so palpably forced that Cary devoted herself with ardour to Jimmie, and left Artie speechless. Then something spurred Flora to do a foolish thing. She deliberately began to bait Cary to say things to annoy her to try to mortify her. At first Cary refused to see what was evident to the rest of us.
I promised Locals an' Hammy a generous rake-off, an' we fixed to have a tol'able fair time as soon as I cashed in. Next mornin' I found a letter addressed to Mr. John Hawkins, Esq. Artie wasn't around, but Locals an' Hammy was, so I opened the letter an' read it. This here is the letter. It's one o' my greatest treasures.
'What part are you working at to-day, Artie? said the old shoemaker, looking over his son's shoulder at the blank music paper before him. 'Quartette of Biological Professors, eh? 'Yes, father, Berkeley answered with a smile. 'How do you think it runs now? and he hummed over a few lines of his own words, set with a quaint lilt to his own inimitable and irresistible music:
That is why I say he will kill you; I really believe he would do it." "So do I," I agreed, grimly. "However, let's drop that for right now. Do you know a man named Brower, Artie Brower?" "I don't think I ever heard of him. Why?" "Never mind for a minute. I've just had a great thought strike me. Just let me alone a few moments while I work it out."
But what's the use o' talkin'? I cud tell ye for hours all the things he said an' did to show he was Arthur Dillon." "Has he any marks on his body that would help to identify him, if he undertook to get the gold mine that belongs to him?" "Artie had only wan mark on him as a boy ... he was the most spotless child I ever saw ... an' that was a mole on his right shoulder.
When I told poor Arthur, as we went home that night, that he wasn't to see any more of Richard, he could not help crying. I saw it, though he tried to hide it. Of course I didn't let him know I saw him cry. Men are ashamed of crying. I ain't a bit. For Richard was the only schoolfellow ever was a friend to Artie. He once fought a big fellow that used to torment him!
Sims's friends. "I see," I said one day, "that they have just made Arthur Stewart a Chief Justice out west." "Poor old Artie," murmured Mr. Sims. "He'll have a hard time holding it down. I imagine he's pretty well tanked up all the time these days." When Mr. Sims has not heard of any of his associates for a certain lapse of years, he decides to himself that they are down and out.
"We can't all ride this stallion " "Listen," I cut in, and I gave him the same directions I had previously given Brower. He heard me attentively. "I can beat that," he cut me off. He dismounted. "Get on here, Artie. Ride down the barranca two hundred yards and you'll come to an alkali flat. Get out on that flat and ride like hell for Box Springs." "Why don't you do it?"
She explained that she had always wanted to study law, but that her father wouldn't let her, so that she always coaxed her friends to describe their law-suits to her, and then she read up on them by herself. Artie thought this was wonderful. So it was.
I've always taken a just pride in the profession, and I've always asserted that it develops logic; it develops logic, Artie, or else why are all cobblers good Liberals, I should like to know? Eh, can you tell me that; with all your Oxford training, sir, can you tell me that? 'It develops logic beyond the possibility of a doubt.
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