to Garfield, and because it was named
for that little girl of Mart's that died right after the war, don't
you think Johnnie's out raising hell about it, and brought Lige down
here to beat the game. He'll be spending a lot of money if he has to.
Now you wouldn't think he'd do that for old Mart, would you? He's too
many for me--that Johnny boy is. I can't make him out." The Irishman
played with his knife, sticking it in the chair and pulling it out for
a while, and then continued: "Oh, yes, what I was going to tell you
was the little spat me and Lige had over Johnnie. Lige was in my room
in the court-house waiting to see a man in the court, and was bragging
to me about how smart John was, and says Lige, 'He's found some earth
over in Missouri--yellow clay,' he says, 'that's just as good as
oatmeal, and he ships it all over the country to his oatmeal mills and
mixes it with the real stuff and sells it.' I says: 'He does, does he?
Sells mud mixed with oatmeal?' and Lige says, 'Yes, sir, he's got a
whole mountain of it, and he's getting ten dollars a ton net for it,
which is better than a gold mine.' 'And you call that smart?' says I.
'Yes,' says he, 'yes, sir, that's commercial instinct; it's perfectly
clean mud, and our chemist says it won't harm any one,' says he. 'And
him president of the Golden Belt Elevator Co.?' says I. 'He is,' says
Lige. 'And don't need the money at all?' says I. 'Not a penny of it,'
says he. 'Well,' says I, 'Lige Bemis,' says I, 'when Johnnie gets to
hell,--and he'll get there as sure as it doesn't freeze over,' says
I, 'may the devil put him under that mountain of mud and keep his
railroad running night and day dumping more mud on while he eats his
way out as a penance,' says I. And you orto heard 'em laugh." Dolan
went on cutting curly-cues from the leather, and McHurdie kept on
sewing at his bench. "It is a queer world--a queer world; and that
Johnnie Barclay is a queer duck. Bringing Lige Bemis clear down here
to help old Mart out of a little trouble there ain't a dollar in; and
then turning around and feeding the American people a mountain of mud.
Giving the town a park with his mother's name on it, and selling
little tin strips for ten dollars apiece to pay for it. He's a queer
duck. I'll bet it will keep the recording angel busy keeping books on
Johnnie Barclay."

"Oh, well, Jake," replied McHurdie, after a silence, "maybe the angels
will just drop a tear and wipe much of the evil off."

"