kets and unearthed a grimy, tattered notebook.
Lubricating the blunt point of a stubby pencil he set to work. When he
had finished, the sun was close to the horizon. He sat back and gazed
sideways at his effort. "I'll try her on meself," he said, drawing up
his leg and resting the notebook against his lean knee. "Wish I could
stand off and listen to meself," he muttered. "Kind o' get the defect
better." Then he read laboriously:--

"Bo, it's goin' to be hot all right;
Sun's a floodin' the eastern range.
Mebby it was kind o' cold last night,
But there's nothin' like havin' a little change.
Money? No. Only jest room for me;
Mountings and valleys and plains and such.
Ain't I got eyes that was made to see?
Ain't I got ears? But they don't hear much:
Only a kind of a inside song,
Like when the grasshopper quits his sad,
And says: 'Rickety-chick! Why, there is nothin' wrong!'
And after the coffee, things ain't so bad."

"Huh! Sounds all right for a starter. Ladies and them as came with
you, I will now spiel the next section."

"The wind is makin' my bed for me,
Smoothin' the grass where I'm goin' to flop,
When the quails roost up in the live-oak tree,
And my legs feel like as they want to stop.
Pal or no pal, it's about the same,
For nobody knows how you feel inside.
Hittin' the grit is a lonesome game,--
But quit it? No matter how hard I tried.
But mebby I will when that inside song
Stops a-buzzin' like bees that's mad,
Grumblin' together: 'There's nothin' wrong!'
And--after the coffee things ain't so bad."

"Bees ain't so darned happy, either. They're too busy. Guess it's a
good thing I went back to me grasshopper in the last verse. And now,
ladies and gents, this is posituvely the last appearance of the noted
electrocutionist, Sundown Slim; so, listen."

"Ladies, I've beat it from Los to Maine.
And, gents, not knowin' jest what to do,
I turned and slippered it back again,
Wantin' to see, jest the same as you.
Ridin' rods and a-dodgin' flies;
Eatin' at times when me luck was good.
Spielin' the con to the easy guys,
But never jest makin' it understood,
Even to me, why that inside song
Kep' a-handin' me out the glad,
Like the grasshopper singin': 'There's nothin' wrong!'
And--after the coffee things ain't so bad."

Sundown grinned with unalloyed pleasure. His mythical audien