"'Whoever tacks this up? I wonder,' says Enright. 'It never is yere ten minutes ago.'
"'Well, jest you-all hover 'round an' watch the glory of its comin' down,' says Jack, a-cuttin' of it loose with his bowie, an' tearin' it up. 'I yerewith furnishes the information cold, this camp of Wolfville knows its business an' don't have to be notified of nothin'. This yere outfit has a vig'lance committee all reg'lar, which I'm kettle-tender tharfor, an' when it comes nacheral to announce some notice to the public, you-alls will perceive me a-pervadin' of the scenery on a hoss an' promulgatin' of said notice viver voce. Am I right, Enright?'
"'Right as preachin', Jack,' says Enright. 'You speaks trooth like a runnin' brook.'
"'But whoever sticks that notice?—that's the information I pants for,' says Boggs, pickin' up an' readin' of the piece.
"'I reckons I posts that notice some myse'f,' says a big, squar'-built gent we-alls don't know, an' who comes in the other mornin' with Old Monte on the stage. As he says this he's sa'nterin' about the suburbs of the crowd, listenin' to the talk.
"'Well, don't do it no more, partner,' says Jack, mighty grave. 'As a commoonity Wolfville's no doubt 'way wrong, but we-alls has our prides an' our own pecooliar little notions, that a-way, about what looks good; so, after now,
