Me and old Mack Lonsbury， we got out of that LittleHide-and-Seek gold mine affair with about 40，000apiece. I say “old” Mack； but he wasn’t old. Forty-one， Ishould say； but he always seemed old.
“Andy，” he says to me， “I’m tired of hustling. You and mehave been working hard together for three years. Say weknock off for a while， and spend some of this idle moneywe’ve coaxed our way.”
“The proposition hits me just right，” says I. “Let’s benabobs for a while and see how it feels. What’ll we do—take in the Niagara Falls， or buck at faro？”
“For a good many years，” says Mack， “I’ve thoughtthat if I ever had extravagant money I’d rent a two-roomcabin somewhere， hire a Chinaman to cook， and sit in mystocking feet and read Buckle’s History of Civilisation.”
“That sounds self-indulgent and gratifying withoutvulgar ostentation，” says I； “and I don’t see how moneycould be better invested. Give me a cuckoo clock and aSep Winner’s Self-Instructor for the Banjo， and I’ll joinyou.”
A week afterwards me and Mack hits this small townof Pina， about thirty miles out from Denver， and finds anelegant two-room house that just suits us. We depositedhalf-a-peck of money in the Pina bank and shook handswith every one of the 340 citizens in the town. Webrought along the Chinaman and the cuckoo clock andBuckle and the Instructor with us from Denver； and theymade the cabin seem like home at once.
Never believe it when they tell you riches don’t bringhappiness. If you could have seen old Mack sitting inhis rocking-chair with his blue-yarn sock feet up in thewindow and absorbing in that Buckle stuff through hisspecs you’d have seen a picture of content that wouldhave made Rockefeller jealous. And I was learning to pickout “Old Zip Coon” on the banjo， and the cuckoo was ontime with his remarks， and Ah Sing was messing up theatmosphere with the handsomest smell of ham and eggsthat ever laid the honeysuckle in the shade. When it gottoo dark to make out Buckle’s nonsense and the notes inthe Instructor， me and Mack would light our pipes andtalk about science and pearl diving and sciatica and Egyptand spelling and fish and trade-winds and leather andgratitude and eagles， and a lot of subjects that we’d neverhad time to explain our sentiments about before.
One evening Mack spoke up and asked me if I was muchapprised in the habits and policies of women folks.
“Why， yes，” says I， in a tone of voice； “I know ’em fromAlfred to Omaha. The feminine nature and similitude，”
says I， “is as plain to my sight as the Rocky Mountains isto a blue-eyed burro. I’m onto all their little side-steps andpunctual discrepancies.”
“I tell you， Andy，” says Mack， with a kind of sigh， “Inever had the least amount of intersection with theirpredispositions. Maybe I might have had a proneness inrespect to their vicinity， but I never took the time. I mademy own living since I was fourteen； and I never seemedto get my ratiocinations equipped with the sentimentsusually depicted toward the sect. I sometimes wish I had，”
says old Mack.
“They’re an adverse study，” says I， “and adapted topoints of view. Although they vary in rationale， I havefound ’em quite often obviously differing from each otherin divergences of contrast.”
“It seems to me，” goes on Mack， “that a man hadbetter take ’em in and secure his inspirations of the sectwhen he’s young and so preordained. I let my chance goby； and I guess I’m too old now to go hopping into thecurriculum.”
“Oh， I don’t know，” I tells him. “Maybe you bettercredit yourself with a barrel of money and a lot ofemancipation from a quantity of uncontent. Still， I don’tregret my knowledge of ’em，” I says. “It takes a man whounderstands the symptoms and by-plays of women-folksto take care of himself in this world.”
We stayed on in Pina because we liked the place. Somefolks might enjoy their money with noise and raptureand locomotion； but me and Mack we had had plenty ofturmoils and hotel towels. The people were friendly； AhSing got the swing of the grub we liked； Mack and Bucklewere as thick as two body-snatchers， and I was hitting outa cordial resemblance to “Buffalo Gals， Can’t You ComeOut To-night，” on the banjo.
One day I got a telegram from Speight， the man thatwas working on a mine I had an interest in out in NewMexico. I had to go out there； and I was gone two months.
I was anxious to get back to Pina and enjoy life once more.
When I struck the cabin I nearly fainted. Mack wasstanding in the door； and if angels ever wept， I saw noreason why they should be smiling then.
That man was a spectacle. Yes； he was worse； he was aspyglass； he was the great telescope in the Lick Observatory.
He had on a coat and shiny shoes and a white vest and ahigh silk hat； and a geranium as big as an order of spinachwas spiked onto his front. And he was smirking andwarping his face like an infernal storekeeper or a kid withcolic.
“Hello， Andy，” says Mack， out of his face. “Glad to seeyou back. Things have happened since you went away.”
“I know it，” says I， “and a sacrilegious sight it is. Godnever made you that way， Mack Lonsbury. Why do youscarify His works with this presumptuous kind of ribaldry？”
“Why， Andy，” says he， “they’ve elected me justice of thepeace since you left.”
I looked at Mack close. He was restless and inspired. Ajustice of the peace ought to be disconsolate and assuaged.
Just then a young woman passed on the sidewalk； andI saw Mack kind of half snicker and blush， and then heraised up his hat and smiled and bowed， and she smiledand bowed， and went on by.
“No hope for you，” says I， “if you’ve got the Mary-Janeinfirmity at your age. I thought it wasn’t going to take onyou. And patent leather shoes！ All this in two little shortmonths！”
