"Kent has bad luck," said Trove. "Last year he broke his leg."
"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," said
Darrel, quickly.
"I do obey the law," said Trent.
"Ay—the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit to thee. But the law o' thine own discovery,—the law that is for thyself an' no other,—hast thou ne'er thought of it? Ill luck is the penalty o' law-breaking. Therefore study the law that is for thyself. Already I have discovered one for thee, an' it is, 'I have not limberness enough in me bones, so I must put them in no unnecessary peril.' Listen, I'll read thee me own code."
The clock tinker rose and got his Shakespeare, ragged from long use, and read from a fly-leaf, his code of private law, to wit:—
"Walk at least four miles a day.
"Eat no pork and be at peace with thy liver.
"Measure thy words and cure a habit of exaggeration.
"Thine eyes are faulty—therefore, going up or down, look well to thy steps.
"Beware of ardent spirits, for the curse that is in thy blood. It will turn thy heart to stone.