ear to the frogs in the marsh. "They
ain't quite so bad when they get big enough to trill, but that
everlasting yipping makes me lonesome. I'm a good mind to toss up this
tenpenny nail and salt codfish business and get back to the sawdust
once more."

There was a stir in a cage above his head, a parrot waddled down the
bars, stood on his beak and yawped hoarsely:

"Crack 'em down, gents! The old army game!"

"If it wasn't for you, Elkanah, I swear I should die of listening to
nothing but frogs tuning up and swallows twittering and old fools
swapping guff," he went on, sourly, and then he suddenly cocked his
ear, for a new note sounded faintly from the marsh.

"I never knew a bullfrog to get his bass as early as this," he mused,
and as he listened and peered, the old horse's head came slowly
bobbing around the alders at the bend of the road. Above the wailing
of the distant accordion he caught a few words as the cart wabbled up
the rise on its dished wheels:

Old horse Joe is ever faithful,
O-o-o, o-o-o--ever true.
We've been--o-o-o--wide world over,
O-o-o, o-o-o, toodle-oodle--through.

Then a medley of dronings, and finally these words were lustily
trolled with the confidence of one who safely reaches the last line:

A bet-tur friend than old horse Joe.

"Whoa, there! Whup!" screamed the parrot, swinging by one foot.

"Ain't you kind of working a friend to the limit and a little plus?"
inquired Buck, sarcastically. The old horse had stopped before the
emporium, legs spraddled, head down and sending the dust up in little
puffs as he breathed.

"Joachim loves music," replied the stranger, mildly. "He'll travel all
day if I'll only play and sing to him."

"Love of music will be the death of friend Joachim, then," commented
Buck.

"Is there a hostelry near by?" asked the other, lifting his old hat
politely. With satirical courtesy Buck lifted his--and at that
psychological moment the only plug hats in the whole town of Smyrna
saluted each other.

"There's a hossery down the road a ways, and a mannery, too, all run
by old Sam Fyles."

"Crack 'em down, gents," rasped the parrot. "Twenty can play as well
as one."

The man under the chaise top pricked up his ears and cast a
significant look at the plug hat on the platform. Plug hat on the
platform seemed to recognize some affinity in plug hat on the van, and
there was an acceleration of mutual interest when the parrot croaked
his sentenc