in' over and over agin that
he's turned twenty-five. Some folks may credit that, but I don't."

"Humph!" exclaimed the girl, tossing her head and turning up her nose,
while she thought: "I'd like to know where auntie gits her men if Joe's
a boy." The angry color dyed her cheeks as she spoke in defence of her
favorite: "I guess it's no fault of his if he ain't got a beard; just
give him time, and I'll bet a quarter he'll turn out as good a crop as
any of the other fellers."

Mary Jane was perhaps the more indignant because she could not but
acknowledge to herself the justice of Mrs. Parkenson's criticism. Joe
was, without doubt, undersized and boyish in stature; the most vivid
imagination would fail to discover even embryotic promise of beard or
mustache; and although his flowing chestnut locks might excite
admiration, they served to enhance his youthful appearance. These facts
provoked the girl excessively, particularly as ardor, which would have
compensated her for everything else, was decidedly lacking in Joe
Marshall.

Joe's peculiarities were not infrequently the subject of comment amongst
the men. "It's not that ee's muskilar, but ee's wiry," was the criticism
of Captain Cullen, the driver of the Malakoff stage. Cullen had been in
command of a British brig before emigrating to America, and therefore
retained his title, while he still struggled with his h's. "Joe hain't
afraid of nothink," he would declare, shaking his head and opening his
round, dull eyes to their fullest extent; "and dern me if 'is 'orses
don't seem to know it by the way they 'ammer hover the road. 'Tain't
that ee can outcuss the rest on us, for by Jove! I never 'eard a hoath
hout of 'is lips. I've made hup my mind that it's sumthin' supernateral
wot's got hinto 'im." Having thus delivered himself, Captain Cullen
considered that point satisfactorily explained.

"I reckon you've about hit it," returned Dick Bowles. "Joe's got his
good p'ints, to be sure, though he can't cuss wuth a damn. Mebbe it's
coz he don't drink whiskey; I dunno. That larf o' hisn gets me every
time; I never did hear anythin' to ekal it! Mebbe you've heard tell of
the circus man that cum along here last year and offered to give Joe
fifty dollars a week ef he'd agree to travel about with his show jest to
start up the larf at the performances."

This was a fact. But the proprietor of the circus was not the only
person on whom Joe's laughter made an impression. When his full