good letters from people up North. He had worked
in stores and had once clerked in a bank, at least the letters said
so. Well, we put up a job to get him a place in a little town out on
the railroad. You all know how clannish Kentuckians are. Let two meet
who never saw each other before, and inside of half an hour they'll be
chewing tobacco from the same plug and trying to loan each other
money."

"That's just like them," interposed Fox Quarternight.

"Well, there was an old man lived in this town, who was the genuine
blend of bluegrass and Bourbon. If another Kentuckian came within
twenty miles of him, and he found it out, he'd hunt him up and they'd
hold a two-handed reunion. We put up the job that this young man
should play that he was a Kentuckian, hoping that the old man would
take him to his bosom and give him something to do. So we took him
into town one day, coached and fully posted how to act and play his
part. We met the old man in front of his place of business, and, after
the usual comment on the news over our way, weather, and other small
talk, we were on the point of passing on, when one of our own crowd
turned back and inquired, 'Uncle Henry, have you met the young
Kentuckian who's in the country?'

"'No,' said the old man, brightening with interest, 'who is he and
where is he?'

"'He's in town somewhere,' volunteered one of the boys. We pretended
to survey the street from where we stood, when one of the boys blurted
out, 'Yonder he stands now. That fellow in front of the drug store
over there, with the hard-boiled hat on.'

"The old man started for him, angling across the street, in disregard
of sidewalks. We watched the meeting, thinking it was working all
right. We were mistaken. We saw them shake hands, when the old man
turned and walked away very haughtily. Something had gone wrong. He
took the sidewalk on his return, and when he came near enough to us,
we could see that he was angry and on the prod. When he came near
enough to speak, he said, 'You think you're smart, don't you? He's a
Kentuckian, is he? Hell's full of such Kentuckians!' And as he passed
beyond hearing he was muttering imprecations on us. The young fellow
joined us a minute later with the question, 'What kind of a crank is
that you ran me up against?'

"'He's as nice a man as there is in this country,' said one of the
crowd. 'What did you say to him?'

"'Nothing'; he came up to me, extended his hand, saying, "My young
frie