“When I asked him, ‘How come you to do it, Pete?’ he allus answered, ‘I dunno; I got to thinkin’ about somethin’.’  If anything valooable had occurred to Pete, whilest he was in one of them thinking spells, he’d have been one of these here geniuses.

“When a saw mill sent a slab sailin’, or bust a belt, Pete was at the center of the disturbed districk.  He fell off every foot log in ten miles; why, he was drowned fourteen times in three weeks!

“The bar we was workin’ had a tunnel about a hundred foot long.  Follerin’ the pay streak made us turn at right angles, so it was dark back there.  One day Mr. Pete was pushin’ the car whilest I got dinner and his candle burned out.  He takes a stick of giant powder, puts cap and fuse on it, lights it careful, jabs it in a frame for a candle, and trots for outdoors with the car—­never knowin’ anything onusual had took place.  Just as I slapped the last flapjack and straightened up to yell, ‘Come and get it!’ here come Pete and the car like magic right acrosst the creek, followed by the most dust I ever see in my life.

“I watched him end-over-ending as he come, and I couldn’t get near enough to the happenings to even wonder why.

“He landed on top of a quakin’ asp and the car rolled over the dinner.

“I ain’t declarin’ that I was perfectly reasonable; I was surprised.  When I was young and soople I’ve done twenty-odd foot in a running jump, but to see a man jump two hundred foot and carry a hand-car along with him was a branch of sport new to me, and perticler when done by a man like Pete.

“‘Why,’ says I, as I climb the tree and helped him down, ’however did you come to do it?’

“‘I dunno, Zeke,’ says he, ’honest to Gosh’—­Pete never used a cuss-word—­’honest to Gosh,’ says he; ’I dunno.  The last I remember was thinkin’ why this here law of gravitation couldn’t be made to work as a man wanted it, when “bump” says somethin’ behind me, and I went right along, as you see.  I tried to figger it out, comin’, but turning handsprings made me dizzy.’

“These are points to show life as lived by my friend Pete Douglass.  His autogeography would be plumb full of happenin’s.  At first sight, lookin’ careless, you’d say, ’Why, here’s the most unforchinit cuss I ever heard about,’ but on a sober thought, to a man accustomed to havin’ sober thoughts, it seemed as if there was luck in the bank, to pull through such performances and live to tell the tale.

“I mentioned this idee to Pete.

“‘Why’’ says he, ’I should holler horray every time I’m most killed,’ he says.  ‘Is that what you mean?’

“‘Look-a-here,’ says I, ’I’m able to mean all I’m capable of meanin’ without any outside help.  I mean you’re the great human paradox—­less human and more paradox then I’ve seen advertised at a circus—­and whilest you’re perpetual dodging one horn or t’other of a dilemma, any friend of yours is getting bunked square between the two.  If anything ‘ud keep a man from being selfish, you would,’ says I.  ’D——­d if I ain’t spent two-thirds of my time and drawed some on the last, fishin’ you out of messes.  Now,’ I says to him, ‘why don’t you get married and settle up?’