oyed myself first rate, an' upset a couple o' delivery wagons
because they wouldn't make way for me, roped a runaway steer 'at had
the whole town scared, an' chased a flat-head clear into the Palace
Hotel for throwin' a pear at me. Fatty's brother confided to him that I
was the best advertisement they'd ever had.

Still I allus get weary o' doin' the same sort o' thing day after day.
That's what gets me about livin' in town; it's so blame monotonous. Out
on the range now a feller can allus be expectin' a little excitement
even if he ain't enjoyin' it right at the time; but in town it's just
the same thing over an' over again. It's bad enough at any time; but if
you want to soak yourself plumb full o' the horrors of a great city you
want to wear a tin suit with an iron kettle strapped on your head that
you can't take off without help. I got so blame disgusted drinkin'
steam beer through a straw that if any one would 'a' dared me I'd 'a'
signed the pledge.

If it hadn't been for the children I'd probably got hysterical an' been
voted into the uncurable ward; but they thought I was the finest thing
out, an' I used to give 'em little plugs o' tobacco for souvynears. I
used to read "Ivanhoe" at night an' tell stories to the kids the next
day. Some o' them thought I was a fairy godmother; an' I generally had
such a gang troopin' after me that we looked like an orphan asylum out
for an airin'. I allus did like children.

Well, one day I was out at the foot o' the hill neighbor-hood on Sutter
Street. A lot o' cars was blockaded, an' a herd o' kids stood lookin'
on. I stopped an' talked to 'em, an' the' was one little girl, just for
all the world like another little girl I used to know, away back yonder
in Indiana. She had the same confidin' smile an' the same big, wide
open eyes; an' I felt a sort o' lump in my throat when she looked at
me. She had that same queer little look that Barbie'd had when she was
a child too. Her mother was named Maggie, which also happened to be the
name o' the little girl I had known clear away back when I'd been a
school-boy. All of a sudden I felt lonesome again; so I give the kids
the slip an' skirted the car.

I started to ride up the Hyde Street hill on the other side, an' say,
it was a hill! Steep? Well, it was about all Mr. Hoss could do to climb
it. While I was wonderin' if I hadn't better let that part o' town go
unadvertised I heard a rumble, looked up, an' saw comin' over the
square o