that weighed a pound and a half and marked minutes, seconds and quarter
seconds. Just to look at Josh Smith's watch brought at least ten men to
the bar every evening.

Every morning Mr. Smith was shaved by Jefferson Thorpe, across the way.
All that art could do, all that Florida water could effect, was lavished
on his person.

Mr. Smith became a local character. Mariposa was at his feet. All the
reputable business-men drank at Mr. Smith's bar, and in the little
parlour behind it you might find at any time a group of the brightest
intellects in the town.

Not but what there was opposition at first. The clergy, for example,
who accepted the Mariposa House and the Continental as a necessary and
useful evil, looked askance at the blazing lights and the surging crowd
of Mr. Smith's saloon. They preached against him. When the Rev. Dean
Drone led off with a sermon on the text "Lord be merciful even unto this
publican Matthew Six," it was generally understood as an invitation to
strike Mr. Smith dead. In the same way the sermon at the Presbyterian
church the week after was on the text "Lo what now doeth Abiram in the
land of Melchisideck Kings Eight and Nine?" and it was perfectly plain
that what was meant was, "Lo, what is Josh Smith doing in Mariposa?"

But this opposition had been countered by a wide and sagacious
philanthropy. I think Mr. Smith first got the idea of that on the night
when the steam merry-go-round came to Mariposa. Just below the hostelry,
on an empty lot, it whirled and whistled, steaming forth its tunes on
the summer evening while the children crowded round it in hundreds. Down
the street strolled Mr. Smith, wearing a soft fedora to indicate that it
was evening.

"What d'you charge for a ride, boss?" said Mr. Smith.

"Two for a nickel," said the man.

"Take that," said Mr. Smith, handing out a ten-dollar bill from a roll
of money, "and ride the little folks free all evening."

That night the merry-go-round whirled madly till after midnight,
freighted to capacity with Mariposa children, while up in Smith's Hotel,
parents, friends and admirers, as the news spread, were standing four
deep along the bar. They sold forty dollars' worth of lager alone that
night, and Mr. Smith learned, if he had not already suspected it, the
blessedness of giving.

The uses of philanthropy went further. Mr. Smith subscribed to
everything, joined everything, gave to everything. He became an
Oddfellow, a Forester, A Kni