ll and strong for his age, and almost
too beautiful for a boy. His mother, of course, was idolatrous in her
love. His ready tongue, his gift of reciting funny or heroic verse, and
his happy moods had made him a general favourite, the king of the stable
yard. Abetted, inspired and trained by Kenna, he figured in many a
boyish fight, and usually won so that he was not a little pleased with
himself in almost every way. Had he not carried out his promise of two
years before and thrashed the mayor's son, who was a year older than
himself, and thereby taught a lesson to that stuck-up, purse-proud
youngster? Could he not ride with any man? Yes, and one might add, match
tongues with any woman. For his native glibness was doubly helped by the
vast, unprintable vocabularies of his chosen world, as well as by choice
phrases from heroic verse that were a more exact reflex of his mind.

Then, on a day, came Whiskey Mason drifting into Links once more. He was
making an ever scantier living out of his wretched calling, and had sunk
as low as he could sink. But he had learned a dozen clever tricks to
make new victims.

At exactly eleven o'clock, P.M., the bar-room had been closed, as was by
law required. At exactly eleven five, P.M. a traveller, sick and weak,
supported by a friend, came slowly along the dusty road to the door,
and, sinking down in agony of cramps, protested he could go no farther
and begged for a little brandy, as his friend knocked on the door,
imploring kindly aid for the love of heaven. The barkeeper was obdurate,
but the man was in such a desperate plight that the Widow Hartigan was
summoned. Ever ready at the call of trouble her kindly heart responded.
The sick man revived with a little brandy; his friend, too, seemed in
need of similar help and, uttering voluble expressions of gratitude, the
travellers went on to lodgings on the other side of the town, carrying
with them a flask in which was enough of the medicine to meet a new
attack if one should come before they reached their destination.

At exactly eleven ten, P.M., these two helpless, harmless strangers
received the flask from Widow Hartigan. At exactly eight A.M., the next
day, at the opening of the Magistrate's office, they laid their
information before him, that the Widow Hartigan was selling liquor out
of hours. Here was the witness and here was the flask. They had not paid
for this, they admitted, but said it had been "charged." All the town
was in