"And if I lose in the Court of Appeals, I'll take it to hell, the next place." "All right, Sim Saylor, I won't be thar, but my lawyer will. Keep on your shirt, Sim, and come into the house. The old woman can make you comfortable for the night." They went to the house and Mr. Saylor took off his wet clothes and went to bed. When he awoke the next morning they hung on a chair, dry and nicely cleaned; there was even a fashionable crease down the trouser legs. Elhannon's dude son had pressed them for him. As he and Elhannon sat at breakfast they talked about the bees and the old Southdown ram which several years before had been gathered to his fathers, leaving several noble scions behind. When breakfast was over Elhannon's boy, the dude, drove up in front of the house in a buckboard, and Saylor climbed in beside him. As the boy started off Elhannon called: "Look here, dood, don't drive that horse over any cows in the road." Old man Saylor laughed and called back: "You and I are too old to law; you settle with old man Samuels for his horse and we'll call it square. You and the old woman come down to the fair and stop with us." "All right, Sim Saylor; I'll be thar; so long and good luck." PART II. Seeing Italy at Mrs. O'Flannagan's Expense. CHAPTER I. Mrs. O'Flannagan lived in Limerick, the Irish colony of Louisville. Her husband, a policeman under the Grainger administration, was "doped by a friend" and, being found in a stupor, was fired by the Board of Public Safety. His friend's brother inherited the beat and the Tenth-street or side door of the saloon at ---- West Green Street, swung more loosely of hinge on Sunday than formerly. Some days after his dismissal O'Flannagan, passing the cart of a hot-tamale man at the entrance to the ball park, became involved in an argument between the vendor, a Sicilian, and a boy and was knifed by the vendor. He was buried three days later after a convivial wake, the success of which was in some measure a consolation for his widow. His estate, besides his widow, consisted of a four-room, shot-gun cottage, meagerly furnished, and three boys, Tim, Pat and Jerry. Tim was fourteen, and after school sold papers at Fourth and Broadway. The other two boys were of sufficient years of discretion to dodge a motorcycle if the rider gave stentorian warning. Mrs. O'Flannagan, a husky, rawboned dame, adopted the profession of a washlady, and found many ladies who were anxious to procure her services since the colored ladies had deserted their washtubs to work in the Axton tobacco factory. Tim always brought home the worn outside paper of his bundle, or else one that some customer had glanced through and thrown away, for his mother to read. She was deeply interested in the progress of the World War.