"That's good. But it strikes me that there ought to be some sort of a fight. One fellow ought to call another fellow a liar, or something of the sort. It would be a good thing for a fellow to snatch out his pistol and have it grabbed and turned against him, don't you see? That sort of a thing always catches the people." "But you advocated the elevation of the stage, don't you remember?" He got out of his chair, and walked up and down the room, with his collar unbuttoned, his broad, black cravat hanging loose. "That's the point, Belford; that's the very point. To elevate the stage is to make it natural. Why, last season an actor ruined a play for this town by drawing a pistol with his left hand." "But that was not so very unnatural," I replied. "He might have been left-handed. Many a left-handed man has had a fight." He paused in his walk, to stand before me, and thoughtfully to balance himself alternately upon his heels and toes. "But, Belford, that's not the point. Of course there may be a left-handed man in a fight, but nine chances to one a man is right-handed, and the stage must take the course that is the most probable. No, Sir, you don't want to shock a critical sense of fitness by having a man pull a pistol with his left hand. Such breaks always tend to wound a sensitive nature. Any man in your drama pull a pistol that way, Belford?" "No, if a pistol is drawn at all it shall be in the accepted form." "All right," he said, resuming his walk. "Any ragged girl talk like a clodhopper until she is insulted and then talk like a princess? Anybody say 'stronger?' No human being except a fool on the stage ever said 'stronger' for stranger. Any fat woman in short skirts trying to be a girl? Any tramp with more ability than an ancient philosopher? Any female detective that doesn't know she loves a suspected thief until she has had him put in jail? Got any of those things?" "I'll take an oath that I have none of those tantalizing features, Senator." "Then, Sir, it will be a go. Yes, Sir, the world can't stop it. Why, come in, Patsey. Remember Mr. Belford, don't you?" I shook hands with the old lady, placed a chair for her and gave her my fan, and she rewarded me with an old-time courtesy. "Gracious me," she said, "it's so hot down here that I wonder everybody doesn't take to the hills. I wouldn't live in this flat country." "Why, Sister Patsey," the Senator spoke up, "Bolanyo is on a hill." "A hill? Giles, you don't know what a real hill looks like, it's been so long since you saw one. Why, where I live you can sometimes look down on a cloud." "Yes, and it's a good deal better to live above a cloud than to be under one, Sister Patsey."