surprise.

"Sho you've come back at lasht, Davy," he said. "You're--you're
very--irregular. You'll lose--law bishness. Y-you're worse'n Andy
Jackson--he's always fightin'."

I relieved him, unprotesting, of the drum, thanking my stars there was so
much as a stick left of it. He watched me with a silent and exaggerated
interest as I laid it on the table. From a distance without came the
shouts of the survivors making for the tavern.

"'Sfortunate you had the drum, Davy," he said gravely, "'rwe'd had no
procession."

"It is fortunate I have it now," I answered, looking ruefully at the
battered rim where Nick had missed the skin in his ardor.

"Davy," said he, "funny thing--I didn't know you wash a Jacobite. Sh'ou
hear," he added relevantly, "th' Andy Jackson was married?"

"No," I answered, having no great interest in Mr. Jackson. "Where have
you been seeing him again?"

"Nashville on Cumberland. Jackson'sh county sholicitor,--devil of a man.
I'll tell you, Davy," he continued, laying an uncertain hand on my
shoulder and speaking with great earnestness, "I had Chicashaw
horse--Jackson'd Virginia thoroughbred--had a race--'n' Jackson wanted to
shoot me 'n' I wanted to shoot Jackson. 'N' then we all went to the Red
Heifer--"

"What the deuce is the Red Heifer?" I asked.

"'N'dishtillery over a shpring, 'n' they blow a horn when the liquor
runsh. 'N' then we had supper in Major Lewish's tavern. Major Lewis
came in with roast pig on platter. You know roast pig, Davy? . . . 'N'
Jackson pulls out's hunting knife n'waves it very mashestic. . . . You
know how mashestic Jackson is when he--wantshtobe?" He let go my
shoulder, brushed back his hair in a fiery manner, and, seizing a knife
which unhappily lay on the table, gave me a graphic illustration of Mr.
Jackson about to carve the pig, I retreating, and he coming on. "N' when
he stuck the pig, Davy,--"

He poised the knife for an instant in the air, and then, before I could
interpose, he brought it down deftly through the head of my precious
drum, and such a frightful, agonized squeal filled the room that even I
shivered involuntarily, and for an instant I had a vivid vision of a pig
struggling in the hands of a butcher. I laughed in spite of myself. But
Nick regarded me soberly.

"Funny thing, Davy," he said, "they all left the room." For a moment he
appeared to be ruminating on this singular phenomenon. Then he
continued: "'N' Jackson was back firsht, 'n' he was