l by the har, it takes 'im a few days to git over
bein' dizzy an' find his legs ag'in; an' when a man sells himself to old
Belcher, he mustn't squawk an' try to git another feller to help 'im out
of 'is bargain. Ye got into't, an' ye must git out on't the best way ye
can."

"What would you have me do?" inquired Yates.

"I want to have ye sw'ar, an' sign a Happy David."

"A what?"

"A Happy David. Ye ain't no lawyer if ye don't know what a Happy David
is, and can't make one."

Yates recognized, with a smile, the nature of the instrument disguised
in Jim's pronunciation and conception, and inquired:

"What would you have me to swear to?"

"To what I tell ye."

"Very well. I have pen and paper with me, and am ready to write. Whether
I will sign the paper will depend upon its contents."

"Be ye ready?"

"Yes."

"Here ye have it, then. 'I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I hain't seen
no pauper, in no woods, with his name as Benedict.'"

Jim paused, and Yates, having completed the sentence, waited. Then Jim
muttered to himself:

"With his name _as_ Benedict--with his name _is_ Benedict--with his name
_was_ Benedict."

Then with a puzzled look, he said:

"Yates, can't ye doctor that a little?"

"Whose name was Benedict," suggested Yates.

"Whose name was Benedict," continued Jim. "Now read it over, as fur as
ye've got."

"'I solemnly swear that I have seen no pauper in the woods whose name
was Benedict.'"

"Now look a here, Sam Yates! That sort o' thing won't do. Stop them
tricks. Ye don't know me, an' ye don't know whar ye're settin' if you
think that'll go down."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I telled ye that Benedict was no pauper, an' ye say that ye've seen no
pauper whose name was Benedict. That's jest tellin' that he's here. Oh,
ye can't come that game! Now begin agin, an' write jest as I give it to
ye. 'I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I hain't seen no pauper, in no
woods, whose name was Benedict.'"

"Done," said Yates, "but it isn't grammar."

"Hang the grammar!" responded Jim; "what I want is sense. Now jine this
on: 'An' I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I won't blow on Benedict, as
isn't a pauper--no more nor Jim Fenton is--an' if so be as I do blow on
Benedict--I give Jim Fenton free liberty, out and out--to lick
me--without goin' to lor--but takin' the privlidge of self-defense.'"

Jim thought a moment. He had wrought out a large phrase.

"I guess," said he, "that covers the thin