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“‘Well, sir, we cooled our heels outside there for a spell, but nothing occurred. So at last we made tracks back here to the saloon, owning to ourselves that Flo didn’t need to be taught how to receive a surprise party. ‘But,’ says I, ‘you’ll have the minister back here before long; and I anticipate he’ll ask questions.’ I’d hardly said the words before the door flung open behind me. It wasn’t the youngster, though, but Flo herself; and a flaming rage she was in. ‘See here, boys,’ she begins, ‘this is a dirty game, and you’d better be ashamed of yourselves! I’m ashamed of you, Bill, anyway,’ she says, tossing me back my letter; and then, turning short round on Huz-and-Buz, ‘If old Iniquity, here, started the racket, it’s nateral to him: he had a decent woman once for his wife, and beat her. But there’s others of you oughter know that your same reasons for thinking light of a woman are reasons against driving the joke too hard.’ ‘You’re right, Flo,’ says I, ‘and I beg your pardon.’ ‘I dunno that I’ll grant it,’ she says. ‘Lord knows,’ she says, ‘It ain’t for any of us here to be heaving dirt at each other; but I will say you oughter be feeling mean, the way you’ve served that young man. Why, boys,’ she says, opening her eyes wide, like as if ’twas a thing unheard of, ‘he’s good! And oh, boys, he’s sick, too!’ ‘Is he so?’ I says; ‘I feel cheap.’ ‘You oughter,’ says she. ‘What’s to be done?’ says I. ‘Well, the first thing,’ she says, ‘that you’ve got to do is to come right along and paint my fence’; then, seeing I looked a bit puzzled–‘Some of you boys have taken the liberty to write up some pretty free compliments about my premises; and as the most of you was born before spelling-bees came in fashion, I don’t want my new boarder to come down to-morrow and form his own opinion about your education.’ Well, sir, we went off in a party and knocked up old Peter, and got a pot of paint, and titivated No. 67 by the light of a couple of lanterns; and the Bishop–as we came to call him–sleeping the sleep of the just upstairs all the time. Unfortunately, Peter had made a mistake and given us green paint instead of blue, and by that light none of us could tell the difference; so I guess the Bishop next morning allowed that Miss Montmorency had ideas of her own on ‘mural decoration,’ as Huz-and-Buz calls it. When we got the job fixed, Flo steps inside the gate, and says she, looking over it, ‘Boys, I’m grateful. And now I’m going to play a lone hand, and I look to you not to interfere. Good night.’ From that day to this, sir, she’s kept straight, and held off the drink in a manner you wouldn’t credit. The Bishop, he thinks her an angel on earth; and to see them promenading down the sidewalk arm-in-arm of an afternoon is as good as a dime exhibition. I’m bound to own the boys act up. You wait till you see her pass, and the way the hats fly off. Old Huz-and-Buz came pretty near to getting lynched the first week, for playing the smarty and drawling out as they went by, ‘Miss Montmorency, I believe?’ to imitate the way in which the Bishop introduced himself. I guess he won’t be humorous again for a considerable spell. And now, Doctor, I hope I’ve put the facts straight for you?’

“‘You have,’ I answered, draining my glass; ‘and they do several people credit.’

“‘Wait a bit. You haven’t heard what I’m coming to. That young man is poor.’