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"Old man," says the young one, "I reckon we might double-team it

together; what do you think?" ssssssssss

"I ain't undisposed. What's your line -- mainly?"

"Jour printer, by trade; do a little in patent medicines; theatre-actor --

tragedy, you know; take a turn at mesmerism and phrenology when there's a

chance; teach singing-geography school for a change; sling a lecture, sometimes

-- oh, I do lots of things -- most anything that comes handy, so it ain't work.

What's your lay?" ssssssssss

"I've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time. Layin' on o' hands is

my best holt -- for cancer, and paralysis, and sich things; and I k'n tell a

fortune pretty good, when I've got somebody along to find out the facts for

me. Preachin's my line, too; and workin' camp-meetin's; and missionaryin

around." ssssssssss

Nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh and

says --

"Alas!" ssssssssss

"What're you alassin' about?" says the baldhead.

"To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded

down into such company." And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye with a

rag.

"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?" says the bald-

head, pretty pert and uppish. ssssssssss

"Yes, it is good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who fetched

me so low, when I was so high? I did myself. I don't blame you, gentlemen --

far from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it all. Let the cold world do its

worst; one thing I know -- there's a grave somewhere for me. The world may go

on just as its always done, and take everything from me -- loved ones, property,

everything -- but it can't take that. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all,

and my poor broken heart will be at rest." He went on a-wiping.

"Drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; "what are you heav-

ing your pore broken heart at its f'r? We hain't done nothing."

"No, I know you haven't, I ain't blaming you, gentlemen. I brought

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