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“Miss Gordon, with all his book larnin’ he knowed no more ’bout black-jack than I know ’bout divin’ fer pearls, and the Bullock boys thort he was no good anyhow, ef he couldn’t beat their Par at cards. So one mornin’ they met him as he was goin’ to school, an’ they give him a good beatin’ up, then flung him in Rodd’s creek to cool him, bein’ winter. He crawled outer the creek, Miss Gordon, an’ never went to the school no more. It shorely was a jedgement on him fer playin’ those wicked card games. Moses, parse the ketchup.”,

Zalhambra was a vaudeville artist. His was the star act on each bill. He was undeniably a genius; it needed but a few bars of fortissimo plus crescendo to realize that he was a virtuoso of the first rank. When he played a Rag the audience shouted with delight; but when he sprinkled torrential cadenzas through the dizzying syncopation, like some mighty giant tossing meteors into a handful of fire-crackers, something like an electric shock stirred his hearers.,

“Singe my hair ef I do, let’s hev some more doin’s,” rebelled Moses.,

“Ma! Mamma Bennett,” he burst out as he banged open the door; “she’s coming,—our little earthquake girl! The cutest kid,—not so big as the twins, but stylisher in the face.”

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“My eye!” exclaimed Clarence, mockingly shading his eyes from his sister’s radiance, “She’s got her joy-bells on, what’s the stunt?”,

“Oh, Billy, don’t ask me. I can’t bear to think of it. But I almost forgot,—your mother said if I saw you to tell you to go by the store and get a loaf of bread. There’s the train!”,

“That man Zalhambone’s playin’ rasped all up an’ down my spine,” she criticized. Then harking back to thrills she really had felt despite her prejudice, she admitted grudgingly, “My, but his han’s did fly over them keys permiscuous-like.”,

Nell looked toward the morning-glory garden and there she saw Betty kneeling in the moonlight. Jethro was sitting up on his hind legs beside the little figure, holding his paws before him. The moonlight fell on his penitential white body, on the stiff braids of the sorrowful and contrite Betty, and lighted up the bright yellow nasturtiums that filled the air with their pungent odor. The morning-glory leaves gleamed in the pure white light.