And bands a-tootin' circus-tunes, 'way in some other room Jes' chokin' full o' hothouse plants and pinies and perfume; And fountains, squirtin' stiddy all the time; and statutes, made Out o' puore marble, 'peared-like, sneakin' round there in the shade. And Fluke he coaxed and begged and pled with me to take a hand And sashay in amongst 'em--crutch and all, you understand; But when I said how tired I was, and made fer open air, He follered, and tel five o'clock we set a-talkin' there. {83} [Illustration: To old one-legged chaps, like me] {85} "My God!" says he--Fluke says to me, "I'm tireder'n you! Don't putt up yer tobacker tel you give a man a chew. Set back a leetle furder in the shadder--that'll do; I'm tireder'n you, old man; I'm tireder'n you. "You see that-air old dome," says he, "humped up ag'inst the sky? It's grand, first time you see it; but it changes, by and by, And then it stays jes' thataway--jes' anchored high and dry Betwixt the sky up yender and the achin' of yer eye. "Night's purty; not so purty, though, as what it ust to be When my first wife was livin'. You remember her?" says he. I nodded-like, and Fluke went on, "I wonder now ef she Knows where I am--and what I am--and what I ust to be? "That band in there!--I ust to think 'at music couldn't wear A feller out the way it does; but that ain't music there-- That's jes' a' _imitation_, and like ever'thing, I swear, I hear, er see, er tetch, er taste, er tackle anywhere! {86} "It's all jes' _artificial_, this-'ere high-priced life of ours; The theory, it's sweet enough, tel it saps down and sours. They's no _home_ left, ner _ties_ o' home about it. By the powers, The whole thing's artificialer'n artificial flowers! "And all I want, and could lay down and sob fer, is to know The homely things of homely life; fer instance, jes' to go And set down by the kitchen stove--Lord! that 'u'd rest me so,-- Jes' set there, like I ust to do, and laugh and joke, you know. "Jes' set there, like I ust to do," says Fluke, a-startin' in, 'Peared-like, to say the whole thing over to hisse'f ag'in; Then stopped and turned, and kind o' coughed, and stooped and fumbled fer Somepin' o' 'nuther in the grass--I guess his handkercher. Well, sence I'm back from Washington, where I left Fluke a-still A-leggin' fer me, heart and soul, on that-air pension bill, I've half-way struck the notion, when I think o' wealth and sich, They's nothin' much patheticker'n jes' a-bein' rich! {87} [Illustration: "It's all jes' artificial, this-'ere high-priced life of ours"] {89} [Illustration: Old chums--headpiece] OLD CHUMS