"By the hoofs, I hadn't thought of that. I never saw a young fellow improve as fast as you do, Bob. In the last week or so you have said several pretty good things. You are getting the proper grasp on truth; and if a man has truth in one hand it needn't make any difference what the other fellow has in both hands. Yes, sir, if a war should break out, the horse market would hold up its head and snort. But say, Bob, wasn't there a little love mixed up in what you were saying as I came in?"
"Not a little, uncle. All."
"The girl you've been prancing around with lately?"
"Yes, if you wish to put it that way."
"High stepper, Bobbie; trot a mile in—I mean she's all right. Good nostrils—shapely nose, you understand. Laughs well, teeth all sound, and if I were a young fellow, I'd agree to pay her way into every show that might come along, and make a fire for her every morning. Why, Dan, you appear to be tickled nearly to death. I want to tell you that I found that money on the bed where I dropped it. Talk about your heroes of old, why—"
I interrupted him with a sign of real distress. "I must beg of you and of everyone else, Mr. Clem, not to try to make a hero out of me. But there is a hero under this roof—"
"Dan," Young Master broke in, "I have just sharpened my knife and I am almost tempted to cut off your ears. Of what use is an ear when you turn it from heart-felt praise to catch the unsympathetic tones of average life? And now when anyone starts to compliment you upon your heroism, I command you to keep your ears open and your mouth shut. You did act the part of a hero. Shut up, not a word out of you."
Mr. Clem swore with a horsey oath that I was a hero, and I was compelled to sit there and listen to his extravagant praise.