“And look,” exclaimed Mr. Arp, with satisfaction, “at the way he’s turned out!”

“He ain’t turned out at all yet; he’s too young,” said Buckalew.  “Besides, clothes don’t make the man.”

“Wasn’t he smokin’ a cigareet!” cried Eskew, triumphantly.  This was final.

“It’s a pity Henry Louden can’t do something for his own son,” said Mr. Bradbury.  “Why don’t he send him away to college?”

“Fanny won’t let him,” chuckled Mr. Arp, malevolently.  “Takes all their spare change to keep ’Gene there in style.  I don’t blame her.  ’Gene certainly acts the fool, but that Joe Louden is the orneriest boy I ever saw in an ornery world-full.”

“He always was kind of misCHEEvous,” admitted Buckalew.  “I don’t think he’s mean, though, and it does seem kind of not just right that Joe’s father’s money—­Bantry didn’t leave anything to speak of—­has to go to keepin’ ’Gene on the fat of the land, with Joe gittin’ up at half-past four to carry papers, and him goin’ on nineteen years old.”

“It’s all he’s fit for!” exclaimed Eskew.  “He’s low down, I tell ye.  Ain’t it only last week Judge Pike caught him shootin’ craps with Pike’s nigger driver and some other nigger hired-men in the alley back of Pike’s barn.”

Mr. Schindlinger, the retired grocer, one of the silent members, corroborated Eskew’s information.  “I heert dot, too,” he gave forth, in his fat voice.  “He blays dominoes pooty often in der room back off Louie Farbach’s tsaloon.  I see him myself.  Pooty often.  Blayin’ fer a leedle money—­mit loafers!  Loafers!”

“Pretty outlook for the Loudens!” said Eskew Arp, much pleased.  “One boy a plum fool and dressed like it, the other gone to the dogs already!”

“What could you expect Joe to be?” retorted Squire Buckalew.  “What chance has he ever had?  Long as I can remember Fanny’s made him fetch and carry for ’Gene.  ’Gene’s had everything —­all the fancy clothes, all the pocket-money, and now college!”

“You ever hear that boy Joe talk politics?” asked Uncle Joe Davey, crossing a cough with a chuckle.  “His head’s so full of schemes fer running this town, and state, too, it’s a wonder it don’t bust.  Henry Louden told me he’s see Joe set around and study by the hour how to save three million dollars for the state in two years.”

“And the best he can do for himself,” added Eskew, “is deliverin’ the Daily Tocsin on a second-hand Star bicycle and gamblin’ with niggers and riff-raff!  None of the nice young folks invite him to their doin’s any more.”

“That’s because he’s got so shabby he’s quit goin’ with em,” said Buckalew.

“No, it ain’t,” snapped Mr. Arp.  “It’s because he’s so low down.  He’s no more ’n a town outcast.  There ain’t ary one of the girls ’ll have a thing to do with him, except that rip-rarin’ tom-boy next door to Louden’s; and the others don’t have much to do with her, neither, I can tell ye.  That Arie Tabor—­”