Nov. 15, 1913- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
619 
Toward this strip I legged it right lustily, 
my legs and brains continuing to act in happy 
unison, and consoling one another in this wise: 
Legs: “We’ll soon be there old top.” Brains: 
“And when we’re there, we’ll leave him far 
behind. His brains are drunk, and drunken 
brains can’t guide him safely through the woods. 
He’ll stumble in the underbrush.” 
Legs: “But sometimes men are drunken in 
their brains and still retain their legs.” 
Brains: “And sometimes they get drunken 
in their legs and still retain their brains.” 
Legs: “Methinks this chap is drunken in 
brains, but still retains his legs.” 
And Legs was right. I discovered this as 
soon as I reached the woods. 
“Gainin’ hon yer, pardner,” came the cheer¬ 
ing voice from behind. “Get yer ’art’s blood 
shortly.” 
His words were as alarming as they were 
truthful, and I decided that something would 
have to be done in order to prevent him from 
carrying out his gruesome threat. And here 
Brains came to the rescue: “Shin up that tree, 
Legs.” 
Legs, on reaching the second limb: “We’re 
safe at last.” 
Brains: “For a little while.” 
Legs: “Ah! how good this feels, I could 
shout for joy.” 
Brains: “For heaven’s sake don’t! You’ll 
make the villain madder than he is.” 
The Villain: “Shin some meself. comes to 
that.” He proceeded to prove his assertion. 
Now this was precisely what I had figured 
on, and waiting for him to get halfway up the 
trunk of the tree, I prepared to leap down and 
get such a start as to make good my escape. 
After giving three prodigious shins, however, he 
evidently divined my intentions, and dropping to 
the ground, announced his determination of 
“bloody well starving me hout if it took all 
year,” an announcement that reminded me so 
forcibly of the words of a famous American 
general on a very memorable occasion that I 
burst out laughing in spite of my predicament. 
“What started you to study the life of 
Grant?” I asked, beginning to feel that I was 
safe for a while at least, and thinking to have 
some fun with him. 
“Life of Grant be hanged! Life of Grant 
be blowed! Never ’eard tell hof no such per¬ 
sonage. Gets yer ’art’s blood shortly.” 
“Now see here, old chap,” I said, moving 
out toward the end of the limb, “what is this 
thing you imagine I’ve done to you? I never 
remember having seen you before, and surely 
you wouldn’t take a chap’s heart’s blood for 
delivering a little temperance lecture, which is 
the only way that I possibly could have of¬ 
fended.” 
“Temperance lecture ’ad little to do with 
the matter!” he bellowed. “Hi could ’ave 
passed that part hof it up. Hit’s for deprivin’’ 
me, and me five children, and me wife, hand me 
grandfather (hall of which hi was the means 
hof supportin’) hof a livin’ that hi’ll ’ave yer 
’art’s blood.” 
“Good heavens!” I thought, “the fellow’s 
not only drunk, but crazy.” 
“Ho. no,” he continued, you don’t remem¬ 
ber me, do you? Don’t remember the dye you 
’ad me ruled off the turf for pullin’ an ’orse on 
the second roice on Derby Day, when I was 
really doin’ me best to win? Don”t remember 
Tom Dangler? Well ’ee remembers you, 
’Arold Wetherington. 
The truth had come out, as the truth al¬ 
ways does, and moving still further toward the 
edge of the limb, I gave a shout of joy as I 
recollected that my cousin Harold Wethering¬ 
ton, who resembles me so closely that we had 
on several occasions been mistaken for one 
another, had at one time been a judge at Eng¬ 
land’s famous race course, and had been largely 
instrumental in the ruling off of a well-known 
jockey, one Tom Dangler. 
“Wha’t you a shoutin’ hof?” queried Tom 
Dangler. 
“Because,” I answered, moving still further 
toward the end of the limb, “because, I’m not 
Harold Wetherington. I’m Reginald Wether¬ 
ington, Harold’s cousin, and we resemble each 
other. ” (At this juncture I lost my balance and 
was only saved from falling by the seat of my 
riding breeches becoming caught in the notch 
of the limb, leaving me suspended in mid air.) 
Brains: “Now you see what you’ve done. 
If you’d heeded me you'd never have moved to 
the end of the limb.” 
Legs (desperately): “If I could only wriggle 
around that limb again.” 
Brains: “The odds are against you. See 
how the Villain laughs.” 
The Villain: “Ha! Ha! Ho! Why don’t 
you finish what you started to say?” 
“I say we resemble each other. We’ve been 
mistaken for one another before.” 
“Nice thing for you to say, and (glancing 
at the attachment between the limb of the tree 
and the seat of my breeches) nice time to be 
sayin’ hof it. Better be a sayin’ yer prayers 
and makin’ peace with yer soul, than tellin lies 
to them as don’t believe them. Either seat of 
yer breeches ’ll rip, or the limb yer hangin’ on 
’ll break. In either case down yer comes, and 
hi gets yer blood.” 
Brains: “That’s logical.” 
Legs (frantically): “I must get back.” 
And with one last despairing effort I man- 
