“Nearly everybody will agree with you as to one of them,” said I, with a laugh.

“Well, burglary ought to be wiped out, too,” said Jeff; and I wondered whether the laugh had been redundant.

“About three months ago,” said Jeff, “it was my privilege to become familiar with a sample of each of the aforesaid branches of illegitimate art.  I was sine qua grata with a member of the housebreakers’ union and one of the John D. Napoleons of finance at the same time.”

“Interesting combination,” said I, with a yawn.  “Did I tell you I bagged a duck and a ground-squirrel at one shot last week over in the Ramapos?” I knew well how to draw Jeff’s stories.

“Let me tell you first about these barnacles that clog the wheels of society by poisoning the springs of rectitude with their upas-like eye,” said Jeff, with the pure gleam of the muck-raker in his own.

“As I said, three months ago I got into bad company.  There are two times in a man’s life when he does this—­when he’s dead broke, and when he’s rich.

“Now and then the most legitimate business runs out of luck.  It was out in Arkansas I made the wrong turn at a cross-road, and drives into this town of Peavine by mistake.  It seems I had already assaulted and disfigured Peavine the spring of the year before.  I had sold $600 worth of young fruit trees there—­plums, cherries, peaches and pears.  The Peaviners were keeping an eye on the country road and hoping I might pass that way again.  I drove down Main street as far as the Crystal Palace drugstore before I realized I had committed ambush upon myself and my white horse Bill.

“The Peaviners took me by surprise and Bill by the bridle and began a conversation that wasn’t entirely disassociated with the subject of fruit trees.  A committee of ’em ran some trace-chains through the armholes of my vest, and escorted me through their gardens and orchards.

“Their fruit trees hadn’t lived up to their labels.  Most of ’em had turned out to be persimmons and dogwoods, with a grove or two of blackjacks and poplars.  The only one that showed any signs of bearing anything was a fine young cottonwood that had put forth a hornet’s nest and half of an old corset-cover.

“The Peaviners protracted our fruitless stroll to the edge of town.  They took my watch and money on account; and they kept Bill and the wagon as hostages.  They said the first time one of them dogwood trees put forth an Amsden’s June peach I might come back and get my things.  Then they took off the trace chains and jerked their thumbs in the direction of the Rocky Mountains; and I struck a Lewis and Clark lope for the swollen rivers and impenetrable forests.

“When I regained intellectualness I found myself walking into an unidentified town on the A., T. & S. F. railroad.  The Peaviners hadn’t left anything in my pockets except a plug of chewing—­they wasn’t after my life—­and that saved it.  I bit off a chunk and sits down on a pile of ties by the track to recogitate my sensations of thought and perspicacity.