[FOOTNOTE 5: Henry Thomas Buckle (1821-1862) was a self-taught historian. He planned a series of books to explain the idea that history--especially the progress of nations and peoples--followed laws similar to those being described in the natural sciences. The first volume of his _History of Civilization in England_, published in 1857, was only an introduction to his theme, but it made Buckle a celebrity. The second volume appeared in 1861, but Buckle died the following year without completing his series. The two volumes were widely read during the decade or two after his death. O. Henry read voraciously as a child and would likely have been familiar with the work.] "That sounds self-indulgent and gratifying without vulgar ostentation," says I; "and I don't see how money could be better invested. Give me a cuckoo clock and a Sep Winner's Self-Instructor for the Banjo [6], and I'll join you." [FOOTNOTE 6: Septimus Winner (1827-1902), a gifted composer (he wrote "Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone . . ."), teacher, and performer was the author of at least 200 books on how to play numerous musical instruments.] A week afterwards me and Mack hits this small town of Piña, about thirty miles out from Denver, and finds an elegant two-room house that just suits us. We deposited half-a-peck of money in the Piña bank and shook hands with every one of the 340 citizens in the town. We brought along the Chinaman and the cuckoo clock and Buckle and the Instructor with us from Denver; and they made the cabin seem like home at once. Never believe it when they tell you riches don't bring happiness. If you could have seen old Mack sitting in his rocking-chair with his blue-yarn sock feet up in the window and absorbing in that Buckle stuff through his specs you'd have seen a picture of content that would have made Rockefeller jealous. And I was learning to pick out "Old Zip Coon" on the banjo, and the cuckoo was on time with his remarks, and Ah Sing was messing up the atmosphere with the handsomest smell of ham and eggs that ever laid the honeysuckle in the shade. When it got too dark to make out Buckle's nonsense and the notes in the Instructor, me and Mack would light our pipes and talk about science and pearl diving and sciatica and Egypt and spelling and fish and trade-winds and leather and gratitude and eagles, and a lot of subjects that we'd never had time to explain our sentiments about before. One evening Mack spoke up and asked me if I was much apprised in the habits and policies of women folks.