e that. If
he didn't want his cigars touched let him leave the box out in the open
like a man. Merton drew upon the lighted trophy, moistened and pasted
back the wrapper that had broken when the end was bitten off, and took
from the bottom of the delivery wagon the remains of a buggy whip that
had been worn to half its length. With this he now tickled the bony
ridges of the horse. Blows meant nothing to Dexter, but he could still
be tickled into brief spurts of activity. He trotted with swaying
head, sending up an effective dust screen between the wagon and a still
possibly observing Gashwiler.

His deliveries made, Merton again tickled the horse to a frantic
pace which continued until they neared the alley on which fronted the
Gashwiler barn; there the speed was moderated to a mild amble, for
Gashwiler believed his horse should be driven with tenderness, and his
equally watchful wife believed it would run away if given the chance.

Merton drove into the barnyard, unhitched the horse, watered it at the
half of a barrel before the iron pump, and led it into the barn, where
he removed the harness. The old horse sighed noisily and shook himself
with relief as the bridle was removed and a halter slipped over his
venerable brow.

Ascertaining that the barnyard was vacant, Merton immediately became
attentive to his charge. Throughout the late drive his attitude had been
one of mild but contemptuous abuse. More than once he had uttered the
words "old skate" in tones of earnest conviction, and with the worn end
of the whip he had cruelly tickled the still absurdly sensitive sides.
Had beating availed he would with no compunction have beaten the
drooping wreck. But now, all at once, he was curiously tender. He patted
the shoulder softly, put both arms around the bony neck, and pressed his
face against the face of Dexter. A moment he stood thus, then spoke in a
tear-choked voice:

"Good-by, old pal--the best, the truest pal a man ever had. You and me
has seen some tough times, old pard; but you've allus brought me through
without a scratch; allus brought me through." There was a sob in the
speaker's voice, but he manfully recovered a clear tone of pathos. "And
now, old pal, they're a-takin' ye from me--yes, we got to part, you an'
me. I'm never goin' to set eyes on ye agin. But we got to be brave, old
pal; we got to keep a stiff upper lip--no cryin' now; no bustin' down."

The speaker unclasped his arms and stood with head b