untain folks allowed
that next to Willie Pabor of Denver our own Jake Dodsley had more of the
afflatus in him than any other living human poet. Hoover appreciated
Jake's genius, even though Jake _was_ his rival. It was Jake's custom to
write poems _at_ Miss Woppit--poems breathing the most fervid sentiment,
all about love and bleeding hearts and unrequited affection. The papers
containing these effusions he would gather together with rare diligence,
and would send them, marked duly with a blue or a red pencil, to Miss
Woppit.

The poem which Hoover liked best was one entitled "True Love," and Hoover
committed it to memory--yes, he went even further; he hired Professor De
Blanc (Casey's piano player) to set it to music, and this office the
professor discharged nobly, producing a simple but solemn-like melody
which Hoover was wont to sing in feeling wise, poor, dear, misguided
fellow that he was! Seems to me I can hear his big, honest, husky, voice
lifted up even now in rendition of that expression of his passion:

Turrue love never dies--
Like a river flowin'
In its course it gathers force,
Broader, deeper growin';
Strength'nin' in the storms 'at come,
Triumphin' in sorrer,
Till To-day fades away
In the las' To-morrer.
Wot though Time flies?
Turrue love never dies!

Moreover, Three-fingered Hoover discoursed deftly upon the fiddle; at
obligates and things he was not much, but at real music he could not be
beat. Called his fiddle "Mother," because his own mother was dead, and
being he loved her and had no other way of showing it, why, he named his
fiddle after her. Three-fingered Hoover was full of just such queer
conceits.

Barber Sam was another music genius; his skill as a performer upon the
guitar was one of the marvels of the camp. Nor had he an indifferent
voice--Prof. De Blanc allowed that if Barber Sam's voice had been
cultured at the proper time--by which I suppose he meant in youth--Barber
Sam would undoubtedly have become "one of the brightest constellations in
the operatic firmament." Moreover, Barber Sam had a winsome presence; a
dapper body was he, with a clear olive skin, soulful eyes, a noble
mustache, and a splendid suit of black curly hair. His powers of
conversation were remarkable--that fact, coupled with his playing the
guitar and wearing plaid clothes, gave him the name of Barber Sam, for he
was not really a barber; was only just like one.

In the fac