counted on Joaquin and his band for makin ' a pot for me regular once a week—but t’aint.what I started out to say."
The old man fell into a reverie. He seemed to see only the ends of his toes.
"About the Archangel," Crawford prodded.
"Yes—the Archangel. That's a matter of three short years aback."
This gentle old man stood up, and hitched savagely at his trouser band before he sat down again.
"Adolphe—his name'd tell you, wouldn't it? Chin beard—juicy voice—and hands a-curvin' through the air. Well, Adolphe and me set up backin' and minin' together five years aback. I stayed on and on with him because his bread'd make you hungry in your sleep.
"'Twas flour for that very bread that I went a-ridin' into town for, one summer day. There was a real estate dude 'd come up. 'Socks' we called him. Actual—he went round in wormy lookin' things held up by garters! Well, Socks, he tucked a folded newspaper under my saddle-flap, just as I was tighiening up to go home.
"'Read that,' says he. 'It's time all you fellers settled down to raisin 'families, so's we could have a population, and school districts, and churches, and sich . Never no hope of doin' anything with a lot of bachelors.'
"Well, you know, it struck me like wisdom from the mouth of babes? I rode along a-tryin' of my best to read that paper. Not bein' over profuse in acquaintance with learnin', and the sun strikin' the white clay like a lookin'-glass, I tucked it away and whistled till the barkin' of the dog realized me I was home.
"Later, when the smoke went out of the chimney, curlin' through the trees, Adolphe and me sat out on the saw-bucks a-readin' of that paper,—the Matrimonial Messenger.
"By your names, sirs, there was three pages of ’um saying how enchantin' they was!
"Tall women and short women, and young women and old wonen, women with children and women without, women that could work, and sew, and cook, and women that could sing, and dance, and talk. Every blamed one of 'em willin' to send their
