Read the items first--we can bear the waiting." "What waiting ?" inquired Mr.Schofield.
"For the poem," replied Parker, grimly.
With a vague but not fleeting smile, Ross settled the sheets in order, and exhibited tokens of that pleasant nevousness incident to appearing before a critical audience, armed with literature whose merits should delight them out of the critical attitude.

"I run across a great scheme down there," he volunteered amiably, by way of preface; "I described everything in full, in as many words as I could think up; it's mighty filling, and it'll please the public, too; it gives 'em a lot more information than they us'ally git.

I reckon there's two sticks of jest them extry words alone." "Go on," said the foreman, rather ominously.
Ross began to read, a matter necessitating a puckered brow and at times an amount of hesitancy and ruminating, as his results had already cooled a little, and he found his hand difficult to decipher.

"Here's the first," he said: "'The large and handsome, fawn-colored, two years and one-half year old Jersey of Frederick Bibshaw Jones, Esquire----'" The foreman interrupted him: "Every reader of the 'Herald' will be glad to know that Jersey's age and color! But go on." "'-- Frederick Bibshaw Jones, Esquire,'" pursued his assistant, with some discomfiture, "'-- Esquire, our popular and well-dressed fellow-citizen----'" "You're right; Bib Jones is a heavy swell," said Parker in a breaking voice.
"'-- Citizen, can be daily seen wandering from the far end of his pasture-lot to the other far end of it.'" "'His!'" exclaimed Parker.

"'_His_ pasture-lot ?' The Jersey's ?" "No," returned the other, meekly, "Bib Jones's." "Oh," said Parker.