till seein' him
walk beside that girl. Jim, the feller, wasn't so pleased.
Howsomever, there was old Aggy, all in a minute, shakin' hands with
many people and representing everything there was in sight, as usual.
Then he marched the crowd up and introduced us all. Say, I've lived a
sort of hasty life, full of high jumps, but I'll admit that strolling
around with all them nice girls and young fellers left a sore spot. I
enjoyed it, but-- Well, I had hold of something with hair as light as
the sun in a haze, and with big blue eyes that looked up at me, when
the head was bent down--and I can be as big a fool as any monkey in
these United States--and the first thing you know, there won't be
anything but girl in my conversation.

Anyhow, we stood well with the community and learned to our surprise
that Christmas was only four days off. I hadn't knowed what day it was
within a month.

The next day we found out somethin' still more surprisin'--at least Ag
did.

"Do you know that we have a miracle in our midst, friends?" says he to
me and the cow-punch. "Answer by mail. We have, and I'll tell you
right now. The maimed and the halt are walking. The seller of maps is
now beginning to get church funds in his hands; the one-time paralytic
is the gaiest birdie that flies, and worse'n that, he's making a bold
play for Jack Hunter's girl, as her Pah-pah wears gold in his clothes
to keep out the moths.

"He's making a strong push, so the head-waiter-lady tells me, and she
thinks it's a shame, because he has a shifty eye, for all his religious
talk, and Lorna's such a nice girl. 'Twas the kind friend who has the
cellar on the corner, where anti-prohibition folks may indulge their
religion unmolested, that told me of the work. He spotted him for a
crook first peep. Also he seemed to grasp the fact that these almost
orthodox whiskers of mine had been cut in other ways. So we talked
confidential. The barkeep liked Cactus and prohibition, and said he
didn't want the people done dirt by a putty-faced ex-potato-bug.
'These boys,' says he, 'put away more good stuff than the drinkers.
They want the cussed rum disposed of forever. I make as high as thirty
a day in this little joint, and the other part of the town is strictly
on the level. Couldn't you give our friend, Mr. Paris, a gentle push?'"

"My God!" says I, "that bucko will be Helen the Fair and the rest of
Homer if he ain't roped! He's making too free with old-tim