hasn't it?" asked Story finally.
"Long time, old man." echoed Railsback, "but there's
nothing like the power of song to bring back old associations. Ever since the night
on the river when you asked us not to, we haven't sung it, until you started it
"Why did I start it, I wonder?" he reflected, "but things
are different now - Sambo! " The negro walked through an open door. "What shall it be,
"A cigar for mine," said Buck in a low voice, as if his
order would be apt to cause a disturbance.
" 'Open the old cigar box; give me a Cuba stout, for
things are going cross-ways and Maggie and I are out,' " laughed Railsback. Buck
"You'd be surprised if you really thought such were the
case, wouldn't you ? " taking his cigar off the tray, which the negro held toward him
and lighting it, while Story and Railsback swallowed the contents of their glasses.
"Not in the least," said Story, "we have all had a Maggie
at some time in our lives."
"Well, fellows, what do you think of me with an actual
affair of the heart ? " asked Buck again shortly.
"Tell us about her," shouted Railsback, throwing himself
into lounging position. Buck felt confidential; he couldn't very well help it. Every
thing about him was in sympathy, even the little spears of grass which lifted up their
bright little heads from the Bosom of Mother Earth, to the tiny stars nourished by the
Alexander Buck, Sporting Editor on the
was a man fat and thirty, with red face, red hair and red