It was also well that Bill's momentary attitude of didactic propriety
was not further excited by the subsequent conduct of his protege. For
by this time Tom, half supporting the unstable Johnson, who developed
a tendency to occasionally dash across the glaring road, but checked
himself mid way each time, reached the corral which adjoined the Mansion
House. At its farther extremity was a pump and horse-trough. Here,
without a word being spoken, but evidently in obedience to some habitual
custom, Tom led his companion. With the boy's assistance, Johnson
removed his coat and neckcloth, turned back the collar of his shirt, and
gravely placed his head beneath the pump-spout. With equal gravity and
deliberation, Tom took his place at the handle. For a few moments
only the splashing of water and regular strokes of the pump broke the
solemnly ludicrous silence. Then there was a pause in which Johnson put
his hands to his dripping head, felt of it critically as if it belonged
to somebody else, and raised his eyes to his companion. "That ought
to fetch IT," said Tom, in answer to the look. "Ef it don't," replied
Johnson, doggedly, with an air of relieving himself of all further
responsibility in the matter, "it's got to, thet's all!"

If "it" referred to some change in the physiognomy of Johnson, "it" had
probably been "fetched" by the process just indicated. The head that
went under the pump was large, and clothed with bushy, uncertain-colored
hair; the face was flushed, puffy, and expressionless, the eyes injected
and full. The head that came out from under the pump was of smaller size
and different shape, the hair straight, dark, and sleek, the face
pale and hollow-cheeked, the eyes bright and restless. In the haggard,
nervous ascetic that rose from the horse-trough there was very little
trace of the Bacchus that had bowed there a moment before. Familiar
as Tom must have been with the spectacle, he could not help looking
inquiringly at the trough, as if expecting to see some traces of the