"M-m," said he, running his eyes over the order list. "See yu' have Lem Jackson down he' fo' one."
"Yes," said the other; "seems to be quite a fine fellow," he commented.
"M-m; but a bigger liah they ain't in town." He was not much excited by the statement, and went on calmly: "He's fine all right, though—to drink whiskey. M-m. Fight 'n' steal, and lay around drunk, and go regularly to jail, and likewise have somebody pay him out. I have done so myself, a few times, 's why I happen t' know. M-m. Two times in succession I have done that in the last thirty days. M-m; but the next time he gets his black hide in there, in so fo' 's I'm concerned, he c'n stay. Yeh, 'n' 'twouldn't 'sprise me 'f the officers didn' come rid'n up at any time fo' 'im, 'cause 'es been actin' mighty suspicious the last few days. I'n bet he's been int' somethin'."
"Heah! Heah!" he cried, jumping from the counter and hurrying to the platform in front, "what'n the devil you all makin' all this he' noise 'bout!"
"O-oh, uncle," cried a little one, grasping his trousers and looking up, "the p'lice uz jes' gone ova the hill wi' Lem Jackson. Dey has 'rested 'im fo' stealin' coppa wiah."
Sadly, Wyeth drew his pencil through a name he had written not an hour before.
"I'm glad to get your opinion concerning these, Elder," he said gratefully. "The ones we have had down here have been pretty good, and I don't wish to be cherishing expectations that are not likely to be realized. So tell me, if you don't mind, who can be relied on."
"Aw, I do'n mind," he rumbled; "'cause them that's all right is all right; and them that ain't, ain't. So whateve' I tell you 's all the same in the end, exceptin' you won't need t' build on them that ain't.
"These people who had oh'd, 'n' took the' books so readily, 'n' did'n' haf t' wait fo' pay day, ah, among the good people we got out he', that's the reason." He took the paper from Wyeth's hand, and, pointing out the names, he began:
"He's Joe Sim's now, I see you have, 's as good as gold. You c'n count that book delivered; also I see you have Tom Hutchis, 'n' 'es O.K. Jerry Carter is also; but here's Joe Tuttle, outside-a Lem Jackson, a bigger liah, gambler—tin horn gambler, never lived; 'n' he caint read, why has he subscribed fo' the book?" The other looked at the name, and then said: