e, blamed it for the temperature of drinks in summer
time, in a place where no ice was procurable. This he regarded as
wholly unfair. Then, too, possessing something of an artistic eye, he
failed to appreciate the necessity for changing the delicate hues of
nature in spring to a monotonous summer tone by the overbearing process
of continuing its spring blessing _ad nauseam_. And as for winter, it
was perfectly ridiculous to turn off its "hot" tap when it was most
needed. Yes, there were moments when he certainly felt that he could
order matters far more pleasantly if he were given a free hand.

Still, just now winter was a long way off. So that did not trouble him
greatly as he lounged in his doorway, and reposefully contemplated the
ruddy noonday light which was endeavoring to lend picturesqueness to a
scene which, he assured himself, was an "everlastin' disgrace an' stain
on the lousy pretensions of a museum of bum human intellec's." He was
referring to the rest of the buildings which comprised the township, as
apart from his own "hotel." The word "saloon" had been struck out of
his vocabulary, except for use in scornful depreciation of all other
enterprises of a character similar to his own.

Just now he was chewing the cud, and, incidentally, a wad of tobacco,
of a partial peace. He felt that the recent break up of the Lightfoot
gang, so successfully achieved through the agency of hangings and
shootings, should certainly contribute to his advantage. He argued
that the long-endured threat against Orrville removed, money should
automatically become easier, and, consequently, a considerable vista of
his own personal prosperity opened out before his practical imagination.

Yes, Ju was undoubtedly experiencing a certain mild satisfaction. But
somehow his ointment was not without taint. He detected a fly in it.
And he hated flies--even in ointment.

To understand Ju's feelings clearly one must appreciate the fact that
he loved dollars better than anything else in the world. And something
he hated with equal fervor was to see their flow diverted into any
other channel than that of his own pocket. Ten thousand of these
delectable pieces of highly engraved treasure had definitely flowed
into some pocket unknown, as a result of the Lightfoot gang episode.
The whole transaction he felt was wicked, absolutely wicked. What
right had any ten thousand dollars to drift into any unknown pocket?
Known, yes. That was