During his recent sickness the operative lost his hair—a little circumstance that has not been alluded to—and had been supplied with a wig of about the color of his former natural growth, which, as he was not a barber, seldom received proper dressing, and gave its wearer a very uncouth and shabby appearance. But it seemed not quite as bad as going around completely bareheaded, especially in chilly weather. His beard and mustache were also very long and bushy, and scarcely ever cut away; his face was red and sunburnt, but somewhat thinner than when first reaching Pennsylvania. He wore the clothes he had bought the year before—saying to the Mollies that ill success was making him a little careful of his expenses—and a white shirt was rarely seen upon his back. A coat of many colors, badly patched and darned, soft hat—new when he first fought Muff Lawler’s chickens for him—and a pair of heavy miner’s boots, completed an inventory of his visible personal effects—excepting the two loaded revolvers which he constantly wore at his back. He could hardly be deemed a likely customer to take into a decent tavern; but he was not as bad as he looked. His deeds were not criminal, however unseemly he appeared, and his duty was ever uppermost in his thoughts. McKenna was constrained to sleep the little he did sleep, when first in attendance at the fair, upon the bare ground. During part of one day, however, he superintended the bar for a respectable Irish lady, Mrs. Corcoran by name, and that night she left him to occupy the booth, while she went home, showing that this woman, at least, reposed confidence in him, despite his generally accepted bad character. He participated in only two fights while at Ringtown. The first of these occurred on the third day of the fair, when a Dutch constable, from Dark Corner, had trouble with a man named McBain, and the operative entered the row in the interest of peace. The official gazed at McKenna with astonishment and said: “Look here! you seem like what you are—a d——d thief!” This was too much to be taken quietly, and the detective quickly knocked the representative of public justice down with a blow from the fist, and then administered to his body a good kicking with his rough boots, which settled the prevailing question in his favor. The constable cried “enough,” and was allowed to escape without further punishment. [Illustration: _“They came up, exhibiting knives and other weapons, swearing they would kill the man who had beaten their friend.”_]