The young man had no zest for further search. His own joke, the inspiration of the moment, had turned upon him and the arrival of the cigars he knew to be the best antidote for the general laughter and jests of which he was the victim.
This instance of circumstances and a laundry conspiring to defeat a practical joker may not have a dyed-in-the-wool moral, but it has a philosophical ring and I have often noted that your wise saws and modern instances often sound better than they look when dissected. _Par example_, I fail to see the application to me of your sententious observation that some men do a day's work and then spend six days admiring it. From your knowledge of me, as expressed in your letters, you cannot believe me guilty of the day's work. As for self-admiration, the glass which you are constantly holding before me is no flatterer, and conceit has been thumped out of me with the unremitting persistency of a pile-driver. After the perusal of one of your letters, I always feel so small that if I looked as I felt I'd be valuable as a midget.
[Illustration: _The Son as Manager of his Father's Pork-packing Establishment._]
As you say, there is room at the top, but not much elsewhere. That's just exactly how I feel about the pork-packing business. In order to expedite my progress I, day before yesterday, informed the manager of the lard department that either he or I would have to quit the employ of Graham & Co. In case he decided that I had better go, I warned him that it was my intention to take the first European steamer to lay certain facts before you. I knew that it would be no use for me to appeal to Milligan, for it is a bed-rock principle of that dignitary's life that I am always wrong. The next day the manager of the lard department was not on hand. Milligan asked for him and I said, "I am the manager."
"Umph!" he grunted. (Did you ever notice how exceedingly porcine is Milligan's grunt?) "Where's Welch?"
"You--_you_ discharge him? It's impossible. You have no right," blustered your Hibernian auxiliary.
"Haven't I the right?" I answered. "Well, perhaps not." Then I told him one of my stock stories, a true tale of Illinois in the early days. A newly appointed Justice of the Peace had as his first case a charge of horse stealing. The accused man's guilt was palpable enough and there were grounds for belief that a recent epidemic of this sort of thieving was to be attributed to him. At all events the J. P. decided that it was no case for half way measures and that he would try it himself without wasting time getting together a jury. In about fifteen minutes he found the prisoner guilty and ordered the constable to get the nearest available rope and hang the condemned directly. The horse thief had a friend within hearing, who, when he saw how things were going, went in hot haste after the only lawyer the settlement boasted. The lawyer, inspired by a liberal retainer, galloped up in hot haste and sought the Justice of the Peace.