Along that line, let it be added, every parent in Tinkletown bemoaned the birth of a daughter, because that simple circumstance of origin robbed the society's roster of a new name.
Anderson Crow, at the age of forty-nine, had a proud official record behind him and a guaranteed future ahead.

Doubtless it was of this that he was thinking, as he leaned pensively against the town hitching-rack and gingerly chewed the blade of wire-grass which dangled even below the chin whiskers that had been with him for twenty years.

The faraway expression in his watery-blue eyes gave evidence that he was as great reminiscently as he was personally.

So successful had been his career as a law preserver, that of late years no evil-doer had had the courage to ply his nefarious games in the community.

The town drunkard, Alf Reesling, seldom appeared on the streets in his habitual condition, because, as he dolefully remarked, he would deserve arrest and confinement for "criminal negligence," if for nothing else.