. A. R. badge, lemme ast you? An' you
don't think the citizens of this here town would elect a ten-year-old
boy to the responsible position of town marshal, do you? Why, gosh snap
it, I been Marshal o' Tinkletown fer forty years--skippin' two years
back in the nineties when I retired in favour of Ed Higgins, owin' to a
misunderstandin' concernin' my health--an'--"

"It is incredible, sir. You are the youngest-looking man for your years
I've ever seen. But we are digressing. Proceed, Mr. Bacon. Pardon the
interruption."

Marshal Crow had drawn himself up to his full height,--a good six
feet,--and, expanding under the influence of a just pride, his chest
came perilously near to dislodging a couple of brass buttons. His keen
little grey eyes snapped brightly in their deep sockets; his sparse chin
whiskers, responding to the occasion, bristled noticeably. Employing his
thumb and forefinger, he first gave his beard a short caress, after
which he drew it safely out of line and expectorated thinly between his
teeth with such astounding accuracy that both of the strangers stared.
His objective was a narrow slit in the tree-box across the sidewalk.

"I couldn't do that in a thousand years," said Mr. Bacon, deeply
impressed.

"You could do it in half that time if you lived in Tinkletown," was
Anderson's cryptic return. "You ought to see Ed Higgins. He's our
champeen. His specialty is knot-holes. Ed c'n hit--"

"Are you interested in metallurgy, Mr. Crow?" broke in Mr. Bacon, a
little rudely.

Anderson pondered a few seconds, squinting at the tree-tops. The two
strangers waited his reply with evident concern.

"Sometimes I am, an' sometimes I ain't," said he at last, very
seriously. He even went so far as to shake his head slowly, as if to
emphasize the fact that he had made a life-long study of the subject and
had not been able to arrive at a definite conclusion.

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Bonaparte. "That proves, Mr. Crow, that you are a
man of very great discernment, very great discernment indeed."

Mr. Crow brightened perceptibly. "I have to know a little of everything
in my line of work, Mr. Lincoln."

Mr. Bonaparte made no attempt to correct him. As a matter of fact, for a
moment or two he was in some doubt himself; it was only after indulging
in a hasty bit of mental jugglery that he decided his friend couldn't
possibly have introduced him as Bonaparte Abraham Lincoln, or Abraham
Bonaparte Lincoln. He wished, howeve