ceship.

"Anyhow," said the town drunkard, arising in some haste, "I guess I'll
be gittin' home. Maybe I ain't too late." He was moving off with
considerable celerity.

"Too late for what?" called out Anderson.

"That measley, good-fer-nothin' Gates boy dropped in to see my girl
Queenie last night. First time he's ever done it, but, by criminy, the
way they're speedin' things up around here lately there's no tellin'
what c'n happen in twenty-four hours."

"Hold on a minute, Alf. I'll walk along with you. Now, see here,
Alf,"--Mr. Crow laid a kindly, encouraging hand on the other's shoulder
as they ambled down the main street of the village--"no matter what
happens, you mustn't let it git the best of you. Keep straight, old
feller. Don't touch a drop o'--"

Mr. Reesling stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk. "Dog-gone it,
Anderson--leggo of my arm. Do you want everybody to think you're takin'
me to jail, or home to my poor wife, or somethin' like that? It'll be
all over town in fifteen minutes if you--"

"'Tain't my fault if you've got a reputation, Alf," retorted the town
marshal sorrowfully.

"Well, it ain't my fault either," declared Alf. "Look at me. I ain't had
a drink in twenty-three years, and what good does it do me? Every time a
stranger comes to town people point at me an' say, 'There goes the town
drunkard.' Oh, I've heerd 'em. I ain't deef. An' besides, ain't they
always preachin' at me an' about me at the Methodist an' Congregational
churches? Ain't they always tellin' the young boys that they got to be
careful er they'll be like Alf Reesling? An' what's it all come from?
Comes from the three times I got drunk back in the fall of
'ninety-three when my cousin was here from Albany fer a visit. I _had_
to entertain him, didn't I? An' there wasn't any other way to do it in
this jerk-water town, was there? An' ever since then the windbags in
this town have been prayin' fer me an' pityin' my poor wife. That's what
a feller gits fer livin' in a--"

"Now, now!" admonished Anderson soothingly. "Don't git excited, Alf. You
deserve a lot o' credit. Ain't many men, I tell you, could break off
sudden like that, an'--"

"Oh, you go to grass!" exclaimed Alf hotly.

Anderson inspected him closely. "Lemme smell your breath, Alf Reesling,"
he commanded.

"What's the use?" growled Alf. "Wouldn't last fer twenty-three years,
would it?"

"Well, you talk mighty queer," said the marshal, unconvinced. He
coul