ed both classes in his person--but with
Beezer there were extenuating circumstances. According to Big Cloud,
Beezer wore a beard because Mrs. Beezer said so; Mrs. Beezer, in point
of size, made about two of Beezer, and Big Cloud said she figured the
beard kind of took the cuss off the discrepancy.

Anyway, whether that is so or not, Beezer wore a beard, and the reason
it is emphasized here is because you couldn't possibly know Beezer
without it. Its upper extremity was nicotine-dyed, in spots, to a nut
brown, and from thence shaded down to an indeterminate rust color at
its lower edge--when he hadn't been dusting off and doing parlor-maid
work with it in the unspeakable grime of a "front-end." In shape it
never followed the prevailing tonsorial fashions--as far as any one
knew, no barber was ever the richer for Beezer's beard. Beezer used to
trim it himself Sunday mornings--sort of half moon effect he always
gave it.

He was a spare, short man, all jump and nerves, and active as a cat.
He had shrewd, brown, little eyes, but, owing to the fact that he had a
small head and wore a large-size, black, greasy peaked cap jammed down
as far over his face as it would go, the color of his eyes could hardly
be said to matter much, for when you looked at Beezer, Beezer was
mostly just a round knob of up-tilted nose--and beard.

Beezer's claims to immortality and fame, such as they are, were vested
in disease. Yes; that's it, you've got it right--disease. Beezer had
a disease that is very common to mankind in general. There's a whole
lot of men like Beezer. Beezer envied the other fellow's job.

Somebody has said that the scarcest thing on earth is hen's teeth, but
the man who hasn't some time or other gone green-eyed over the other
chap's trick, and confidentially complained to himself that he could
"sit in" and hold it down a hanged sight better himself, has the
scarcity-of-hen's-teeth-oracle nailed to the mast from the start. And
a curious thing about it is that the less one knows of what the men he
envies is up against the more he envies--and the better he thinks he
could swing the other's job himself. There's a whole lot like Beezer.

Now Beezer was an almighty good fitter. Tommy Regan said so, and Regan
ought to know; that's why he took Beezer out of the shops where the
other had grown up, so to speak, and gave Beezer the roundhouse repair
work to do. And that's where Beezer caught the disease--in the
roundhou