The superintendent, who is wise in his generation, scratched his chin.
“Is that dead on the level?” he inquired.
“Gospel!” answered the other.
“I’ll come up myself!” said the boss.
Next day the boss behind a broken-winded horse, in a dilapidated buggy, drove from another town to the place where his client lived. At the smithy on the cross-roads he stopped and borrowed a match. The smith, glad of an excuse to leave the heat of the forge, came out and got the loan of a chew from the boss.
“Anybody have any good hosses in this town?” asked the detective.
“Betcher life!” answered the smith. “Mr. —— up on the bill has the best in the county!”
“What sort of a feller is he?”
The smith chewed in silence for a moment.
“Don’t know him myself, but I tell you what, his help says he’s the best employer they ever had—and they stay there forever!”