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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"Yes, bub," I replied. The two men laughed so explosively that my horse lifted his head austerely.

I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

Yet great is precept. Precept is a well. Up from its far depths by slow, humble, constant process you may draw, in a slender silver thread, and store for sudden use, the pure waters of character.

She struck a mock-sentimental attitude and murmured musically--

I waved a pleasant refusal and rode toward the house.

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