'ints of art this yere Mike's about
sign-painter size, little Joolie regyards him as the top-sawyer
genius of this or any other age.

"'He'll revolutionize the world of art,' she declar's to Nell, who's
mighty constant about goin' to see her; 'Ivan'--she pronounces it
'Vahn'--'is ondoubted destined to become the founder of a noo
school.'

"'An' her face,' goes on Nellie, as she tells us about it over to the
O. K. Restauraw one evenin', after Mike an' his little Joolie wife's
done pulled their freight for the night--'an' her face glows with the
faith of a angel! So if any of you-all boys finds occasion to speak of
this yere Mike in her presence, you be shore an' sw'ar that, as an
artist, he's got nacher backed plumb off the lay-out.'

"'The wretch who fails,' adds Missis Rucker, plenty fierce, 'don't
wrastle his hash with me no more! You can gamble that marplot has
tackled his final plateful of slapjacks at the O. K. House, an' this
yere's notice to that effect.'

"It's a cinch, of course, that none of us is that obtoose as to go
sayin' anything to pain this yere blind little Joolie; at the same
time no one regyards it as feas'ble to resent them threats of Missis
Rucker! She's a mighty sperited matron, Missis Rucker is, sperited to
the verge of bein' vindictive, an' rubbin' her fur the wrong way is
the same as rubbin' a bobcat's fur the wrong way. As a exercise thar's
nothin' in it. Besides, we're plumb used to it, owin' to her
threatenin' us about one thing or another constant. Menaces, that
a-way, is Missis Rucker's style.

"Mike an' his Joolie wife don't live at the O. K. House, but only gets
their chuck thar. He allows that to do jestice to his art he's got to
have what he calls a 'no'th light,' an' so he goes meanderin' out on
the no'th side of town, an' jumps a empty shack.

"Driv by a lack of money, mighty likely, Mike ain't in camp a week
before he makes it plenty plain that, onless he's headed off or
killed, he's goin' to paint Enright a whole lot. As a preelim'nary he
loores a passel of us over to his wickeyup to show us samples.

"'That's my chef dever,' he says, bringin' for'ard a smudgy lookin'
canvas, plastered all over with reds an' browns.

"We-all takes a slant at it, maintainin' ourselves meanwhile as grave
as a passel of owls. An' at that the most hawk-eyed in the outfit
can't make it look like nothin'. We-all hangs back in the straps, an'
waits for Peets to take the lead. For thar is the pre