the horse and buggy the liveryman intended
you to have from the minute he saw you coming toward him down the
street, but you get it with a fine touch of style that is worth much in
this dollar and cent world. Potts drives the rig around to where you
are standing, and the liveryman sends Potts back to get a clean laprobe
instead of the one that is in the buggy. He pats the horse on the neck
as you climb in, and as you pick up the reins he says, as if conferring
a parting favor that money could not repay, "Keep a fair tight rein on
him; it's the first time he has been out of the stable to-day."

Eliph' Hewlitt, in his travels, had learned the value of the liveryman.
He used him as friend and directory. None else could tell him so well
where the prosperous farmers lived, nor who was most likely to fall a
victim to Jarby's Encyclopedia in the town itself. From the liveryman
he could learn which minister, if there were more than one, would be the
best to have head his list of subscribers, which lady was head of the
Society, and what society she was head of. He took one of the chairs
that were ranged along the side of the hotel, and laid his sample across
his knees. He chose the chair that was next to Pap Briggs, for he was
ready to become acquainted with the man he intended soon to have for a
father-in-law.

"Nice town you got here," he said.

"She's purty good," agreed Pap, "except for taxes. Taxes is eternal
high, and it's all us propputy owners can do to keep 'em from goin'
clean out o' sight. City council don't seem to care a dumb how high they
git. I wish't I'd stayed on my farm."

"Taxes ain't so high here as what they are in Jefferson, Pap," suggested
the landlord. "If you lived down there they'd make you holler, all
right."

"Well, Jim," said Pap, "they ain't much choice. If these here young
fellers git their way taxes will go right up. What do they want to
decorate this here town all up for, anyhow? What you think young Toole
was sayin' to me to-day? He was sayin' it was a disgrace to Kilo to have
the public square rented out an' a crop o' buckwheat growin' in it. He
says we ought to plant it in grass an' stick a fountain in the middle.
But that's the way she goes; anything to raise up the taxes. All I says
to him was, 'All right, who'll pump water to make the fountain squirt?
Suppose the taxpayers 'll take turns, hey?'"

"Well," said the landlord, "I ain't in favor of a fountain, myself. I
reckon a nice piec