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Updated: May 13, 2025
So I ruined one of the finest sentences of his disregarded monologue by cutting it short without ceremony. "John Bartine," I said, "you must try to forgive me if I am wrong, but with the light that I have at present I cannot concede your right to go all to pieces when asked the time o' night.
I asked Senator Phillips. "Why that," he said, "is John Bartine!" John Bartine was one of the most noted and romantic figures of the western plains. He had come west with a few law books packed in his trunk and no money, a young tenderfoot lawyer. He almost starved waiting for a case.
This odd little incident occurred in my apartment, where John Bartine was passing an evening.
Ah, poor fellow, he was doing more for science than he knew: not only his story but himself was in evidence. I should cure him if I could, of course, but first I should make a little experiment in psychology nay, the experiment itself might be a step in his restoration. "That is very frank and friendly of you, Bartine," I said cordially, "and I'm rather proud of your confidence.
Its original owner, for whom it was made, was my great-grandfather, Bramwell Olcott Bartine, a wealthy planter of Colonial Virginia, and as stanch a Tory as ever lay awake nights contriving new kinds of maledictions for the head of Mr. Washington, and new methods of aiding and abetting good King George.
"My view of it," he flamed out, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table as if he had been in a public house dicing with blackguards "my view of it is that it was a characteristically dastardly assassination by that damned traitor, Washington, and his ragamuffin rebels!" For some minutes nothing was said: Bartine was recovering his temper, and I waited. Then I said: "Was that all?"
From the fight The Wand had carried on, one would think that we were boring a Moffat tunnel through the Great Divide. And The Wand fought a successful battle with John Bartine over county division. It had come about when Senator Phillips came by one day during the summer on his way from Pierre to his ranch.
Inland rises the height of Chapel Carn Brea, which must be distinguished from the Carn Brea of Redruth; it reaches about 660 feet, but Bartinney, or Bartine, is still higher. Both are crowded with prehistoric remains, but Carn Brea is the more interesting in this respect, for its cairn, whose lower layer held the bones of some Stone Age chieftain, was crowned at the summit by a Christian oratory.
Surely, if I were to guess at the fate of Bramwell Olcott Bartine, I should guess that he was hanged at eleven o'clock in the evening, and that he had been allowed several hours in which to prepare for the change. As to John Bartine, my friend, my patient for five minutes, and Heaven forgive me! my victim for eternity, there is no more to say. He is buried, and his watch with him I saw to that.
I exclaimed, feeling a sharp artistic delight "how under the sun did you get that done? I thought miniature painting on ivory was a lost art." "That," he replied, gravely smiling, "is not I; it is my excellent great-grandfather, the late Bramwell Olcott Bartine, Esquire, of Virginia. He was younger then than later about my age, in fact. It is said to resemble me; do you think so?" "Resemble you?
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