en I attempt a discourse the words
come out as they will, and they may make sense when they strike the
atmosphere, or they may not."

"I want to hear about that graft," persisted Johnny. "You've got
no right to refuse. I've told you all about every man, woman and
hitching post in Dalesburg."

"You shall hear it," said Keogh. "I said my instincts of narrative
were perplexed. Don't you believe it. It's an art I've acquired along
with many other of the graces and sciences."

VI

THE PHONOGRAPH AND THE GRAFT

"What was this graft?" asked Johnny, with the impatience of the great
public to whom tales are told.

"'Tis contrary to art and philosophy to give you the information,"
said Keogh, calmly. "The art of narrative consists in concealing from
your audience everything it wants to know until after you expose your
favourite opinions on topics foreign to the subject. A good story is
like a bitter pill with the sugar coating inside of it. I will begin,
if you please, with a horoscope located in the Cherokee Nation; and
end with a moral tune on the phonograph.

"Me and Henry Horsecollar brought the first phonograph to this
country. Henry was a quarter-breed, quarter-back Cherokee, educated
East in the idioms of football, and West in contraband whisky, and
a gentleman, the same as you and me. He was easy and romping in his
ways; a man about six foot, with a kind of rubber-tire movement. Yes,
he was a little man about five foot five, or five foot eleven. He was
what you would call a medium tall man of average smallness. Henry had
quit college once, and the Muscogee jail three times--the last-named
institution on account of introducing and selling whisky in the
territories. Henry Horsecollar never let any cigar stores come up and
stand behind him. He didn't belong to that tribe of Indians.

"Henry and me met at Texarkana, and figured out this phonograph
scheme. He had $360 which came to him out of a land allotment in
the reservation. I had run down from Little Rock on account of a
distressful scene I had witnessed on the street there. A man stood on
a box and passed around some gold watches, screw case, stem-winders,
Elgin movement, very elegant. Twenty bucks they cost you over the
counter. At three dollars the crowd fought for the tickers. The man
happened to find a valise full of them handy, and he passed them out
like putting hot biscuits on a plate. The backs were hard to unscrew,
but the crowd put its ear to