preparatory to putting
it on, "it's wonderful how a fellow's early training comes back to him
later in life. I recollect my mother used to read a psalm about not
being 'afraid of the terror by night, nor the pestilence that walketh
in darkness.' Now, somehow, it never struck me before, but I 'll bet
the party that wrote the verse never slept in an Arkansas hotel bed.
If he did, he had on his tin pajamas, or else he could beat 'the
pestilence' walking. Say, where on earth is my other sock? I'll
gamble that one of them pinchin'-bugs pinched it?" and Checkers kept up
a running fire of quaint remarks while Kendall laughed.

Their breakfast was a culinary horror.

"Have you got any capsules?" asked Checkers of the waitress.

"Capsules!"

"Yes, I'll have to have some, if I take this butter internally." A
kick under the table from Arthur put an end to further persiflage.

A two-seated spring wagon, known locally as a "hack," with two sturdy
horses and a driver stood waiting for them. Arthur had sent out and
ordered it before breakfast, and his telescope bag and Checkers' trunk
he had caused to be firmly strapped into the end.

The day was a typically beautiful one. The clear and bracing morning
air had in it just enough of a chill to make the sunshine grateful to
them, as they drove along the winding road, toward the mountainous
country lying beyond them.

Checkers' blues had disappeared with the vapors of the night before,
and he felt the exultation of a new and pleasant experience. Arthur
was in an easy humor, and described at considerable length to Checkers
his family and their circumstances.

Some ten years back his father had moved from Massachusetts to that
locality at the advice of his doctor. He had bronchial trouble, and he
found the thin, clear air of the Ozarks beneficial. Mrs. Kendall was
long since dead, and Arthur had been an only child. Besides these two
there were in the household Aunt Deb, who was a sister of Mr.
Kendall's, and "Cynthy," the cook, and maid of all work. There was
also a good-natured creature named Tobe, half-witted and harmless,
attached to the family, who did odd jobs for his board and keep, and
had constituted himself a fixture.

At their store they sold everything from plows to perfumery. The
commission business was simply an adjunct. They bought for cash from
the farmers, and shipped the goods to Little Rock, and sometimes to St.
Louis. Old Mr. Bradley, who had ow