“And now,” cries Crawford, who is full of life and interest, “now for the news and the proposition!” McNairy nods owlish assent to the words of his volatile friend. He intends one day to be a judge, and, while quite as lively as Crawford, seizes on occasions such as this to practice his features in a formidable woolsack gravity. “First,” observes Andy, soberly sipping his punch, “let me put a question: What is my standing in Rowan County?” “You are the recognized authority,” cries Crawford, “on dog fighting, cockfighting, and horse racing.” McNairy nods. “Humph!” says Andy. Then, on the heels of a pause: “And what should you say were my chief accomplishments?” Again Crawford takes it upon himself to reply. “You ride, shoot, run, jump, wrestle, dance and make love beyond expression.” McNairy the judicial nods. “Humph!” says Andy. The trio puff and sip in silence. “You say nothing for my knowledge of law?” This from the disgruntled Andy, with a rising inflection that is like finding fault. “No!” cry the others in hearty concert. “You wouldn't believe us if we did,” adds McNairy of the future woolsack. “Neither would the Judge,” returns Andy cynically. “The Judge” is the title by which the three designate their master, Spruce Mc-Cay. Andy goes on: “The news I promised is this. To-morrow I leave Salisbury. The Judge has recommended my admission to the bar, and I shall take the oath and get my license before I start. I shall transfer myself to the region along the Cumberland, where I am told a barrister of my singular lack of ability should find plenty of practice.” “Why do you leave old Rowan?” asks woolsack McNairy, beginning to take an interest. “Because I have no education, less law, and still less money. It seems that these are conditions precedent to staying in Rowan with credit.” “Well,” cries McNairy the judicial, grasping Andy's long bony hand, “you have as much education, as much law, and as much money as I. Under the circumstances I shall go with you.” “And I,” breaks in the lively Crawford, “since I have none of those ignorant and poverty-eaten qualifications you name, but on the contrary am rich, wise and learned--I shall remain here. When the wilderness casts you fellows out, come back and I shall welcome you. Pending which--as Parson Hicks would say--receive my blessing.” The evening wears on amid clouds of tobacco smoke and rivers of punch. At the close the three take hold of hands, and sing a farewell song very badly. Then, since they look on the evening as a sacred one, they wind up by breaking the pipes they have smoked and the glasses they have drunk from, to save them in the hereafter from profane and vulgar uses. At last, rather deviously, they make their various ways to bed.