fall during the campaign he was so excited about something that he
couldn't eat, and the night they had the Republican mass-meeting here
he roosted on the chandelier in the hall, and every time General
Trumps made a good point that chicken would cackle and flap his wings,
as much as to say, 'Them's my sentiments!' And on the day of the
parade he turned out and followed the last wagon, keeping step with
the music and never dropping out of line but once, when he stopped to
fight a Democratic rooster belonging to old Byerly, who was on the
Democratic ticket. And in the morning, after the Republicans won, he
just got on the fence out here and crowed so vociferously you could've
heard him across the river, particularly when I ran up the American
flag and read the latest returns.

"Yes, sir. Now, I know you'll think it's ridiculous when I tell you,
but it's an actual fact, that that very day my daughter was playing
the 'Star-spangled Banner' on the piano, and that rooster, when he
heard it, came scudding into the parlor, and after flipping up on the
piano he struck out and crowed that tune just as natural as if he was
an educated musician. Positive truth; and he beat time with his tail.
He don't crow like any other rooster. Every morning he works off
selections from Beethoven and Mozart and those people, and on Sundays
he frequently lets himself out on hymn-tunes. I've known him to set on
that fence for more'n an hour at a time practicing the scales, and he
nearly kicked another rooster to death one day because that rooster
crowed flat. I saw him do it myself. And now I really must be going.
Good-morning."

I think I shall send out and kill that rooster at the first
opportunity. I want Keyser to have one thing less to fib about. He has
too much variety at present.