“Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all,” said Fincher, with a laugh. “I could put 'im in the penitentiary fer it,” affirmed the lawyer. “You know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry goin' on among the storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks. Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition, bindin' 'im down to secrecy. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent, commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give the wink, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty slick fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd fetch in wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade some'r's else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every store in town an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all sales, an' he had the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply hang onto a gang from the country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' foller 'em around till they bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his part.” “I got left once,” said Pole, laughing with the others. “One gang that I stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought.” “Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him,” said Trabue; “but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im up fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em.” “I don't know about that,” replied Pole, thoughtfully. “I was doin' all I agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh.” “Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know,” said Trabue, as he rose to go. “I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to a lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made out in the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, nuther.” The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying Pole with admiration. “It's a fact,” he said. “You could 'a' made some 'n' out o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'.” Pole jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing in the front door, looking out into the street. “Everybody don't git a fair showin' in this world, Mr. Fincher,” he said. “That man Craig hain't been treated right.” The jovial expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned against the door-jamb. “You are right thar,” he said--“dead right. He's been mighty unlucky and bad treated.”