no offis from the hands of
an enlightened constitooency, it IS rayther a shiftless life." After
delivering this Parthian arrow with a gratuitous twanging of the bow to
indicate its offensive personality, Bill winked at the barkeeper, slowly
resumed a pair of immense, bulgy buckskin gloves, which gave his fingers
the appearance of being painfully sore and bandaged, strode to the door
without looking at anybody, called out, "All aboard," with a perfunctory
air of supreme indifference whether the invitation was heeded, remounted
his box, and drove stolidly away.

Perhaps it was well that he did so, for the conversation at once assumed
a disrespectful attitude toward Tom and his relatives. It was more than
intimated that Tom's alleged aunt was none other than Tom's real mother,
while it was also asserted that Tom's alleged uncle did not himself
participate in this intimate relationship to the boy to an extent which
the fastidious taste of Angel's deemed moral and necessary. Popular
opinion also believed that Islington, the adopted father, who received
a certain stipend ostensibly for the boy's support, retained it as
a reward for his reticence regarding these facts. "He ain't ruinin'
hisself by wastin' it on Tom," said the barkeeper, who possibly
possessed positive knowledge of much of Islington's disbursements. But
at this point exhausted nature languished among some of the debaters,
and he turned from the frivolity of conversation to his severer
professional duties.

It was also well that Bill's momentary attitude of didactic propriety
was not further excited by the subsequent conduct of his protege. For
by this time Tom, half supporting the unstable Johnson, who developed
a tendency to occasionally dash across the glaring road, but checked
himself mid way each time, reached the corral which adjoined the Mansion
House. At its farther extremity was a pump and horse-trough. Here,
without a word being spoken, but evidently in obedience to some habitual
custom, Tom led his companion. With the boy's assistance, Johnson
removed his coat and neckcloth, turned back the collar of his shirt, and
gravely placed his head beneath the pump-spout. With equal gravity and
deliberation, Tom took his place at the handle. For a few moments
only the splashing of water and regular strokes of the pump broke the
solemnly ludicrous silence. Then there was a pause in which Johnson put
his hands to his dripping head, felt of it critically as if i