nd he seemed to know
instinctive which was our pansy beds and which was theirn. Their hired
man only laughed when I seen him and apologized.

He used to come over once in a while, their hired man did, and meet me
on the dock back of the boathouse, where I give him lessons in roping. I
showed him a few things--how to let go when he got his rope straight,
and to give hisself plenty of double back of the hondoo. We used to rope
the snubbing posts where we tied the boats. Sometimes we'd practice for
a hour or so and he begun to get on right well. We visited that way
several days, usual of mornings.

"Don't the lady ever come down to the boats no more?" says he one time.

"No," says I. "Her pa's afraid she'll get drownded."

"Does she ever talk about saving the life of anybody?" he ast.

"No," I says; "she's used to such things. She don't take no account
anyways of saving the life of a laboring man," says I. "It's nothing to
her."

"Ain't it funny," says he, "how things work out sometimes? At first, you
know, I thought she was one of your housemaids."

"You done what?" says I.

"Well, I don't deny it. When I first seen her in the yard, the time she
chased that dog over, I thought she was one of the maids--you see, she
had on a cap and a apern. I didn't know at all. The old lady thinks it
yet."

"She's mighty kind-hearted, even with the lower classes," says I. "She
even gives money to them people that play music in front of our house
every morning. I wish they wouldn't."

"I wish she wouldn't do that," says he. "We have a awful time with that
band. The old man said if he ever got to be alderman he'd get a
ordinance through abolishing them off the streets. They play something
fierce!" says he.

"Is he going to run for alderman?" says I. "I seen something in the
papers about it."

"Well, yes; I believe he will--I heard him say he would."

"If he does," says I, "I reckon hell will pop in this ward."

"Why?" says he.

"Well, my boss is figuring he may run for alderman hisself--he's
naturalized here now. He used to be sher'f out in Cody whenever he
wanted to be. When he wants anything, seems like he can't hardly help
getting it. It's a way he has."

He looks kind of thoughtful at that.

"Well, now," says he, "well now, what do you know about that! As you
say, Curly, ain't that hell?"

He swore so easy and natural that I kind of liked him, and the way he
taken up roping was to my thinking about the best of a