“I hardly know,” Pole sniggered. “I got to talkin' to 'im an' it looked to me like I was chippin' off tan-bark with the sharpest tool I ever handled. Every lick seemed to draw blood, an' he stood an' tuck it without a start or a shiver. I said to myse'f: 'Pole Baker, yo're nothin' but a rag-tag, bob-tail mountain Hoosier, an' he's a slick duck from up North, with a gold watch-chain an' a silk beaver, but he's a lappin' up what you say like a hungry kitten does a pan o' milk. Go it, old boy, an' ef you win, you 'll he'p the finest man out o' trouble--I mean Alan Bishop, by gum--that ever lived.' It seemed to me I was filled with the fire of heaven. I could 'a' been at it yet--fer I'd jest started--but he drawed his watch on me, an' made a shoot fer this office, me with 'im, fer feer some yokel would strike up with 'im. I mighty nigh shoved 'im in at the door.” “You did noble,” said Miller, while Pole and Alan were silently clasping hands. “Now I told you we wouldn't forget you. Go down to Wimbley's and tell him to give you the best suit of clothes he's got, and to charge them to me 'n' Alan.” Pole drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the lawyer with flashing eyes. “Damn yore soul,” he said; “don't you say a thing like that to me agin. I 'll have you know I've got feelin' s as well as you or anybody else. I'd cut off this right arm an' never wince to do Alan Bishop a favor, but I 'll be danged ef anybody kin look me over after I've done a _little_ one an' pay me for it in store-clothes. I don't like that one bit, an' I ain't afeerd to say so.” “I didn't mean any offence, Pole,” apologized Miller, most humbly. “Well, you wouldn't 'a' said it to _some_ men,” growled Pole, “I know that. When I want pay fer a thing like that, I 'll jest go to that corner o' the street an' look down at that rock-pile, whar Alan found me one day an' paid me out jest to keep me from bein' the laughin'-stock o' this town.” Alan put his arm over his shoulder. “Rayburn didn't mean any harm,” he said, gently. “You are both my friends, and we've had a big victory to-day; let's not have hard feelings.” Pole hung his head stubbornly and Miller extended his hand. Abner Daniel was an attentive listener, a half smile on his face. “Say, Pole,” he said, with a little laugh, “you run down to Wimbley's an' tell 'im not to wrop up that suit. I'm a-owin' him a bill, an' he kin jest credit the value of it on my account.” Pole laughed heartily and thrust his big hand into Miller's. “Uncle Ab,” he said, “you'd make a dog laugh.” “I believe yo' re right,” said Abner, significantly, and then they all roared at Pole's expense. The next day Alan received the following letter from Dolly Barclay: