"Looky here!" he continued, "I'll tell you a secret. I'm writin' a
story for the 'Irish Harp,' and I want to describe the residence of
jess such a vampire as this here Farnham. Now, writin', as I do, in the
cause of humanity, I naturally want to git my facts pretty near right.
You kin help me in this. I'll call to-morrow to see you while you're
there, and I'll get some p'ints that'll make Rome howl when they come
out."

Sam was hardly educated up to the point his friend imagined. His zeal
for humanity and the "rehabitation" of labor was not so great as to
make him think it a fine thing to be a spy and a sneak in the houses of
his employers. He was embarrassed by the suggestion, and made no reply,
but sat smoking his pipe in silence. He had not the diplomatist's art
of putting a question by with a smile. Offitt had tact enough to
forbear insisting upon a reply.

He was, in fact, possessed of very considerable natural aptitude for
political life. He had a quick smile and a ready tongue; he liked to
talk and shake hands; he never had an opinion he was not willing to
sell; he was always prepared to sacrifice a friend, if required, and to
ask favors from his worst enemies. He called himself Andrew Jackson
Offitt--a name which, in the West, is an unconscious brand. It
generally shows that the person bearing it is the son of illiterate
parents, with no family pride or affections, but filled with a bitter
and savage partisanship which found its expression in a servile worship
of the most injurious personality in American history. But Offitt's
real name was worse than Andrew Jackson--it was Ananias, and it was
bestowed in this way: When he was about six years old, his father, a
small farmer in Indiana, who had been a sodden, swearing, fighting
drunkard, became converted by a combined attack of delirium tremens and