tion. Henry can jump on anything any of 'em's got. Henry got the Persimmon to bring him a copy of their by-laws.”
“Well, I swear! Say, if Henry wasn't kind of held back by his religion, he'd use a gun, wouldn't he?”
“I dunno. I can say this for Henry's religion: It's jest like Henry's wife,—it's the dearest thing to his heart; he'd give his life for it, but it don't do nobody a damn bit of good except jest Henry.'”
The constable's little eyes twinkled as he heard Throgmartin roaring with laughter and sputtering appreciative oaths.
At that moment a ringing of the bell jarred the ears of both telephonists. A voice asked for Dr. Jallup. It was an ill time to interrupt two gentlemen. The flair of a jest is lost in a pause. The officer stated sharply that he was the constable of Wayne County and was talking business about the county's prisoners. His tone was so charged with consequence that the voice that wanted a doctor apologized hastily and ceased.
Came a pause in which neither man found anything to say. Laughter is like that,—a gay bubble that a touch will destroy. Presently Bobbs continued, gravely enough:
“Talking about Siner, he's stayin' up at old man Renfrew's now.”
“'At so?”
“Old Rose Hobbett swears he's doin' some sort of
