showed not the slightest inclination to accept his proposed resignation.

"Go slow, Roop," he said cheerfully. "You was onct a boy yourself.
Nat'rally I kalkilate to stand all the damages. You've got ter waste
some powder over a blast like this yer, way down to the bed rock. Next
time I'll bring my own pens."

"Do. Some from the Dobell school you uster go to," suggested the darkly
ironical Rupert. "They was iron-clad injin-rubber, warn't they?"

"Never you mind wot they were," said Uncle Ben good-humoredly. "Look at
that string of 'C's' in that line. There's nothing mean about THEM."

He put his pen between his teeth, raised himself slowly on his legs, and
shading his eyes with his hand from the severe perspective of six feet,
gazed admiringly down upon his work. Rupert, with his hands in
his pockets and his back to the window, cynically assisted at the
inspection.

"Wot's that sick worm at the bottom of the page?" he asked.

"Wot might you think it wos?" said Uncle Ben beamingly.

"Looks like one o' them snake roots you dig up with a little mud stuck
to it," returned Rupert critically.

"That's my name."

They both stood looking at it with their heads very much on one side.
"It ain't so bad as the rest you've done. It MIGHT be your name. That