begins good, like 'Here the true art-lover will stand entranced----'
You got to write it, because I guess you can write faster than what I
can. I'll tell her I dictated to you. Get a hustle on now, so's we can
get through. Write down about four pages of that stuff."

Stunned I was for a moment at his audacity. Too plainly I saw through
his deception. Each day, doubtless, he had come to a low place of this
sort and copied into the notebook from the printed volume.

"But, sir," I protested, "why not at least go to the gallery where
these art objects are stored? Copy the notes there if that must be
done."

"I don't know where the darned place is," he confessed. "I did start
for it the first day, but I run into a Punch and Judy show in a little
park, and I just couldn't get away from it, it was so comical, with
all the French kids hollering their heads off at it. Anyway, what's
the use? I'd rather set here in front of this saloon, where everything
is nice."

"It's very extraordinary, sir," I said, wondering if I oughtn't to cut
off to the hotel and warn Mrs. Effie so that she might do a heated
foot to him, as he had once expressed it.

"Well, I guess I've got my rights as well as anybody," he insisted.
"I'll be pushed just so far and no farther, not if I never get any
more cultured than a jack-rabbit. And now you better go on and write
or I'll be--dashed--if I'll ever wear another thing you tell me to."

He had a most bitter and dangerous expression on his face, so I