“What’s a presiding genius?”
“Little boy, did you say that you would like to ride horseback? Yes—well go over and tell the man at the barn that you want the pony.”
I am a great lover of ponies, they give one a rest. In fact, if it were not for this particular pony, the only non-bucking broncho in the vicinity, I should be constrained to leave. I have been anxious to go down the river to the house of a friend and have a week’s fishing, but I dare not go away from that pony. I am afraid the owner of that pony is mercenary; he refuses to hire him for a week; I think he knows that I want to go fishing, and has possessed himself of the idea that I cannot fish without the pony. He told me only yesterday that he commonly fished off that pony’s back; in fact that it was “the best way to fish anyhow.” It may be a good method; I never tried it; the novelty of the thing is something of an inducement. But the man asks too much, I am satisfied; the pony is not worth more than thirty dollars, but the owner demands fifty. He says I can sell him again, and I have no doubt of that. But what can I get for him? Well, he don’t know, but he’s sure I “won’t lose nothin’;” he might take a notion to buy him back, at a discount, of course. I offer to pay him the “discount” for the pony’s use, and also tender references as to my integrity. But he “don’t know nothin’ about references—there’s the pony, sound in wind and limb, and so gentle a child can ride him, and the best pony to fish off’n I knows on; you can take him, or leave him.”
I have concluded to take him; an indifferent saddle and bridle, ten dollars—total, sixty dollars. The boy takes the outfit under his immediate supervision and we go down to the house of my friend.
Here we found another boy a couple of years younger. I did not know of this boy save by report, but now I do. This last boy is sedate; sometimes I think he is about sixty, but his father is not that old, and it bothers me occasionally to determine which is the father and which the son. They call him Judge, and it’s worth half a dollar to hear him call me counselor—the title with which he dubbed me on our introduction.
“Counselor, I’m glad to see you; the fishing is good; the mosquitoes are a little troublesome for this time of year; but we can give you a net, and I’ll show you where to fish.”
His hair is curly, and he has what the mother of the boy in charge of me would call a “sweet face.” I was about to take him in my arms, but I took off my hat instead, and introduced him to my boy; they looked at each other, grinned and shook hands; then I knew he was a boy, and again wanted to take him in my arms, but dared not. That evening I sat on a stool mending a broken leader, and the Judge sat opposite in a high chair.
“Counselor,” said he, “you are not tying that knot square; that knot will slip; bring it here and let me tie it for you.”
I obeyed reverently; he accomplished the trick deftly and handed back my leader in silence.
“Judge, can you tie a fly?”