XII. 



WE repaired a fly, practically tying a new 

 one, and it was certainly a nondescript evolved 

 out of our inner consciousness, with no 

 definite design, no basic principle, simply old 

 flannels and feathers lashed together in bold- 

 est defiance of entomology, utterly regardless 

 of the eternal fitness of things. But it was an 

 inspiration, bearing no likeness to anything in 

 the heavens above or in the earth below or in 

 the waters under the earth, unless it may have 

 been the raggedest and most disreputable 

 looking tramp that ever tapped at the kitchen 

 door. 



Its object, tramp like, was to get something 

 to eat with as little effort as possible; so we 

 were justified in baptizing it with special 

 solemnity the Hobo, and it was a hobo in all 

 its pristine impurities and imperfections, even 



88 



