you was wishing to entertain the
company with one of them anecdotes or lies of which you have so rich a
store in that there peaked dome of yours. Gents, a moment's silence
while this rare personality unfolds hisself to us!"

"Say, lemme tell you--here's a good one!" resumed the still placid
Sandy. "I remember the first time, about three, four years ago, I ever
went into The Swede's. A stranger goes in just ahead of me and gets to
the bar before I do, kind of a solemn-looking, sandy-complected little
runt in black clothes.

"'A little of your best cooking whiskey,' says he to the Swede, while
I'm waiting beside him for my own drink.

"The Swede sets out the bottle and glass and a whisk broom on the bar.
That was sure a new combination on me. 'Why the whisk broom?' I says to
myself. 'I been in lots of swell dives and never see no whisk broom
served with a drink before.' So I watch. Well, this sad-looking sot
pours out his liquor, shoots it into him with one tip of the glass; and,
like he'd been shot, he falls flat on the floor, all bent up in a
convulsion--yes, sir; just like that! And the Swede not even looking
over the bar at him!

"In a minute he comes out of this here fit, gets on his feet and up to
the bar, grabs the whisk broom, brushes the dust off his clothes where
he's rolled on the floor, puts back the whisk broom, says, 'So long,
Ed!' to the Swede--and goes out in a very businesslike manner.

"Then the Swede shoves the bottle and a glass and the whisk broom over
in front of me, but I says: 'No, thanks! I just come in to pass the time
of day. Lovely weather we're having, ain't it?' Yes, sir; down he goes
like he's shot, wriggles a minute, jumps up, dusts hisself off, flies
out the door; and the Swede passing me the same bottle and the same
broom, and me saying: 'Oh, I just come in to pass the time of--'"

The veterinary and I had been gravely attentive. The faces of the others
wore not even the tribute of pretended ennui. They had betrayed an
elaborate deafness. They now affected to believe that Sandy Sawtelle
had not related an anecdote. They spoke casually and with an effect of
polished ease while yet here capitulated, as tale-tellers so often will.

"I remember a kid, name of Henry Lippincott, used to set in front of me
at school," began Buck Devine, with the air of delicately breaking a
long silence; "he'd wiggle his ears and get me to laughing out loud, and
then I'd be called up for it by teacher and