hole to the Injuns. Troy had a lighted candle tied
fast to each hand.

"Now, you Greek mythology," says Ag, "mind my words; you are to flap
your arms and squeak 'Mah-mah' as you merrily go up and down;
otherwise, my kyind assistants in the cellar are instructed to pull
down so hard that when they let go, you and that able-bodied spring
will fly right through the roof. Light the candles, boys." We lit the
candles, slipped the curtain, and the crowd filed in--face to face with
Brother Troy, blue-haired Troy; ringed, striped, and be-speckled;
flyin' through the air ten foot a trip, flappin' his arms and yelling
"Mah-mah."

I reckon no such thing had ever been behelded by anybody in that church
before, no matter how many Christmas trees they'd seen. They just
stood like they was charmed, and their heads and hands was keeping
motion with Troy.

Ag give two small knocks with his heel, and Troy went right up into the
darkness; the cow-punch grabbed him, cut his lines, and said: "Skin,
you sucker! Hike along the edge and jump out the belfry."

The folks thought it was a grand piece arranged for their benefit, and
they hollered and laughed and clapped their hands. But there was one
deacon who hadn't been nursed by the Dove of Peace all his life. In
fact, he reminded me of a man who used to deal stud-poker up Idaho way;
and he came around and cast a steady eye on Aggy.

"You people might have lost there," says Aggy, passing out the
minister's purse and the other truck. "Paris is gay and not orthodox."

The deacon, he nodded his head. "I had a pipe line run on that geeser
from the minute he blew in," says he. "Where's he now?"

"Runnin' fast," says Aggy; "just where I don't know."

"You gentlemen goin' to tarry with us?" says the deacon. "It's a fine
little town and I'm glad to be good, but crimp my hair if I don't feel
lonesome at times. I should like to exchange reminiscences
occasionally. I hope you'll stay."

"It's a pleasant man who keeps the corner cellar," says Ag, "but his
whiskey has the flavour of old rags. Now my throat----"

"Don't say a word," says the deacon, drawin' a small half-gallon flask
out of his clothes. "Do the snake-swallowin' act to your hearts'
content, gentlemen, and remember there's just simply barrels more where
that comes from. And now," says he, when the gurgling stopped, "let's
go in and see the fun. Them's awful innocent, good-hearted folk, boys.
I tell you straight, i