TIBERIUS SMITH
an dother Fourth-Reader stunts. Well, probably the town never before or since possessed a citizen so deeply appreciative of its charms. First, he gave the Methodist church a new bell—and, Lord knows, our charity should have commenced at home and have been thoroughly domesticated—and then he hung up a prize in the school for the best essay on home. Only, he insisted the compositions should be framed up like circus posters and be largely ejaculatory. To add up the talk, as we both were paying our board, that wart of a town ultimately fell on our necks and pronounced us blessed, and studied to keep us with them for all time. Then, at the conclusion of much liberality on our part, fully realizing Tib's intense loyalty to the coop, the town fathers gravely convened and decided we had gained a legal residence, and appointed the dear old chap as a justice of the peace!
"That was how it all started. Tib knew all about circuses and stock companies, but his legal lore, like Joe Smith's Bible, was largely a matter of inspiration. Yet he bowed to the public will and slipped on the yoke. Really, he felt more happy and chesty over that miserly, little, scantily paid office than if he had captured a whole bevy of grand llamas for a side-show attraction. Of course, he swore me in as clerk, explaining I was the only man on earth who could read his writing. And, this
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