Roman perfection. It was the face of a judge of the Supreme Court or
the face of an ideal senator. His large grave eyes bathed us in a
friendly regard; his full lips of an orator parted with leisurely and
promising unction. I awaited courtly phrases, richly rounded periods.

"A regular hell-cat--what he is!"

Thus vocalized the able lips. Jimmie Time glowed modestly.

"Show him how I can shoot," said he.

The amazing Boogies waddled--yet with dignity--to a point ten paces
distant, drew a coin from the pocket of his dingy overalls, and spun it
to the blue of heaven. Ere it fell the deadly weapon bore swiftly on it
and snapped.

"Crack!" said the marksman grimly.

His assistant recovered the coin, scrutinized it closely, rubbed a fat
thumb over its supposedly dented surface, and again spun it. The
desperado had turned his back. He drew as he wheeled, and again I was
given to understand that his aim had been faultless.

"Good Little Sure Shot!" declaimed Boogies fulsomely.

"Hold it in your hand oncet," directed Little Sure Shot. The intrepid
assistant gallantly extended the half dollar at arm's length between
thumb and finger and averted his statesman's face with practiced
apprehension. "Crack!" said Little Sure Shot, and the coin seemed to be
struck from the unscathed hand. "Only nicked the aidge of it," said he,