knocking.
The playful girl had left that room a moment before, with every appearance of being frightened. She had told the old one there was a robber in the house, and the venerable invalid was a howling coward-I tell you this because I scorn to deceive you.
I found the old gentleman with his head under the blankets, very quiet and speaceful: but the moment he heard me he got up, and yelled like a heliotrope. Then he fixed on me a wild spiercing look from his bloodshot eyes, and for the first time in my life I believed Maud had told me the truth for the first time in hers. Then he reached out for a heavy cane. But I was too punctual for him, and, clapping my hand on his breast, I crowded him down, holding him tight. He curvetted some; then lay still, and swore weak oaths that wouldn't have hurt a sick chicken! All this time I was firm as a rock of amaranth. Presently, moreover, he spoke very low and resigned like-except his teeth chattered:
'Desperate man, there is no need; you will find it to the north-west corner of my upper secretary drawer. I spromise not to appear.'
'All right, my lobster-snouted bulbul,' said I, delighted with the importunity of abusing him; 'that is the dryest place you could keep it in, old spoolcotton! Be sure you don't let the light get to it, angleworm! Meantime, therefore, you must take this draught.'
'Draught!' he shrieked, meandering from the subject. 'O my poor child!'-and he sprang up again, screaming a multiple of things.
I had him by the shoulders in a minute, and crushed him back-except his legs kept agitating.
'Keep still, will you?' said I, 'you sugarcoated old mandible, or I'll conciliate your exegesis with a proletarian!'
I never had such a flow of language in my life; I could say anything I wanted to.
He quailed at that threat, for, deleterious as I thought him, he saw I meant it; but he affected to prefer it that way to taking it out of the bottle.
'Better,' he moaned, 'better even that than the poison. Spare me the poisoned chalice, and you may do it in the way you mention.'
The 'draught,' it may be sproper to explain, was comprised in a large bottle sitting on the table. I thought it was medicine-except it was black-and although Maud (sweet screature!) had not told me to give him anything, I felt sure this was nasty enough for him, or anybody. And it was; it was ink. So I treated his proposed compromise with silent contempt, merely remarking, as I uncorked the bottle: 'Medicine's medicine, my fine friend; and it is for the sick.' Then, spinioning his arms with one of mine, I concerted the neck of the bottle between his teeth.
'Now, you lacustrine old cylinder-escapement,' I exclaimed, with some warmth, 'hand up your stomach for this healing precoction, or I'm blest if I won't controvert your
He struggled hard, but, owing to my habit of finishing what I undertake, without any success. In ten minutes it was all down-except that some of it was spouted about rather circumstantially over the bedding, and walls, and me. There was more of the draught than I had thought. As he had been two days ill, I had supposed the bottle must be nearly empty; but, of course, when you think of it, a man doesn't abrogate much ink in an ordinary attack- except editors.
Just as I got my knees off the spatient's breast, Maud peeped in at the door. She had remained in the lane till she thought the charm had had time to hibernate, then came in to have her laugh. She began having it, gently; but seeing me with the empty bottle in my sable hand, and the murky inspiration rolling off my face in gasconades, she got graver, and came in very soberly.
Wherewith, the draught had done its duty, and the old gentleman was enjoying the first rest he had known since I came to heal him. He is enjoying it yet, for he was as dead as a monogram.
As there was a good deal of scandal about my killing a sprospective father-in-law, I had to live it down by not marrying Maud-who has lived single, as a rule, ever since. All this epigastric tercentenary might have been avoided if she had only allowed a good deal of margin for my probable condition when she splanned her little practicable joke.
'Why didn't they hang me?'-Waiter, bring me a brandy spunch.-Well, that is the most didactic question! But if you must know-they did.
JIM BECKWOURTH'S POND.
Not long after
At first they did not, but when I had thrown in a few lies about the brilliant hues of the water, and the great number of swans, they laid down their cards, left Lame Dave to look after the horses, and followed me back to see. Just before we crossed the last range of hills we heard a thundering sound ahead, which somewhat astonished the boys, but I said nothing till we stood on a low knoll overlooking the lake. There it lay, as peaceful as a dead Indian, of a dull grey colour, and as innocent of water-fowl as a new-born babe.
'There!' said I, triumphantly, pointing to it.
'Well,' said Bill Buckster, leaning on his rifle and surveying it critically, 'what's the matter with the pond? I don't see nothin' in
'Whar's yer swans?' asked Gus Jamison.
'And yer prismatic warter?' added Stumpy Jack.
'Well, I like
I was a little nettled at all this, particularly as the lake seemed to have buried the hatchet for that day; but I thought I would 'cheek it through.'
'Just you wait!' I replied, significantly.
'O yes!' exclaimed Stumpy, derisively; ''course, boys, you mus'
Then I pointed out to them a wide margin of wet and steaming clay surrounding the water on all sides, asking them if
'
To verify his theory he started away, down to the shore. I was concerned for Gus, but I did not dare call him