drink; and it was too cold and too hot, too wet and too dry, and if everything else failed it was too cussed mejium for them to live through it without takin’ a drink.  The consequence was that all I remember about a stockholder is that he’s a kind of man with wibbly-wabbly knees and feet that wants to swap sides, who spends his time hiccupin’ up and down the mine trails, findin’ specimens when and where old man Davis wills.’

“William Pemberton smote his forehead with the flat of his hand—­everything took hold of William so vi’lent.  ’I give you my word, Zeke,’ says he, ’that them horse-car busters picked hunks of red serpentine, loaded with gold from the Texas Star, out of our white quartz ledges that never see gold since Adam played tag, and believed it was all right—­just the same as the gent pulls a rabbit out of your hat at the show, and you’re convinced that rabbit was there all the time unbeknownst to you.  And to think—­’ he says.

“‘Sit down, William, sit down,’ says I.  ’I don’t know what to do for appleplexy.’

“’Well, I’ll sit down to oblige you, Zeke; but to think of them flappy-footed yawps puttin’ away good liquor by the pailful—­pailful?’ yells William scornful.  ’Barrelful—­steam-enjine b’ilerful—­

“‘Well,’ says I hastily, ‘you was sayin’ you had an idee?’

“‘Oh, yes!’ says he.  ’It don’t stand in reason they rounded up every last bottle, so it occurred to me that if we hunted we might make discoveries.’

“‘Why, so we could!’ I hollers loud and hearty, with more notion of creatin’ a diversion, however, than any rank faith in my havin’ a good time off what old man Davis overlooked.  ’It’ll be like hide-and-go-seek of a Christmas Eve when we was kids, William.’

“So we scrimmaged round here and there till there was only one closet in the cabin left.

“‘I saved it till the last—­it’s the most likely,’ says William.  ‘Shine a light on our departing hopes, Ezekiel.’

“He put his hand very careful toward the back.  ’E.  G. W., says he,’ ’my fingers have teched something cold and smooth, just like a bottle—­pull hard, Ezekiel.’

“I took a long breath and pulled hard.

“‘It is round,’ says William Pemberton.  ‘It is a bottle.’

“Nothin’ could be heard but the beatin’ of our hearts.

“‘Is it—­is it—­heavy, William?’ I falters.  Then you couldn’t hear nothin’, for our hearts had cease to beat.  He let loose of a roar same as a lion that’s skipped atop of his prey.

‘Ezekiel G. W. Scraggs!’ he shrieks, ‘she’s full!’

“‘I wish no better luck myself,’ says I.  ‘Trot her out!’

“When the light of the lantern fell upon that bottle we got a shock.  Instead of the cheerin’ color that usually fills useful bottles, the contents of this here one was green—­green as grass off a June hillside.

“‘Well!’ says William, ‘what in—­where in—­why, it’s perfumery!’ he hollers, and raises it for a smash.