"I know you don't like me, and I admire you for it, for every decent man despises me. I am not only the meanest man in the world, but the most worthless, and the ugliest. My teeth are snags, and my eyes are bad, and my breath is sour, and I am lazy; but I like you, and I tell you of it to your teeth." Tug said this with so much seriousness that his companions both laughed; but if he understood the cause of their merriment, he pretended not to, for he said,-- "What are you laughing at?" glaring fiercely from one to the other. "I am not trying to be funny. I hate a funny man, or a joky man. I have nothing for a funny man but poison, and I have it with me." Dorris paid no more attention to his fierce companion than he would to a growling dog, and continued laughing; but Silas shut up like a knife, as Tug took from his vest pocket a package carefully wrapped in newspaper, and after looking at it a moment with close scrutiny, continued,-- "Whenever you find me telling jokes, expect me to giggle at my own wit, and then pour the contents of this package on my tongue, and swallow it; and it will be no more than I deserve. I have but one virtue; I am not funny. You have no idea how I hate the low persons who advertise themselves as comedians, or comediennes, or serio-comic singers, or you would not accuse me of it." Silas had often seen this package before, for Tug had carried it ever since they had been acquainted, frequently finding it necessary to renew the paper in which it was wrapped. From certain mysterious references to it Tug had dropped, Silas believed the powder was intended for a relative more objectionable than any of the others, though he occasionally threatened to use it in a different manner, as in the present instance. Indeed, he seemed to carry it instead of a knife or a pistol; and Silas had noticed on the night when they were following the shadow that his companion carried the package in his hand, ready for instant use. "You are the kind of a man I intended to be," Tug continued, putting away his dangerous package with the air of a desperado who had been flourishing a pistol and took credit to himself for not using it. "I might have been worthy of your friendship but for my wife's relations, but I admire you whether you like it or not. Do your worst; I am your friend." Tug had not taken his huge eye from Dorris's face since entering, except to look at the poison; but he removed it as Mrs. Wedge came in to prepare the table for the evening meal. Dorris was a good deal like Tug in the particular that he did not sleep much at night, but he slept soundly when the morning light came up over the woods to chase away the shadows which were always looking into his window; therefore he frequently ate his breakfast at noon, and his supper at midnight.