Returning from a hunting trip， I waited at the littletown of Los Pinos， in New Mexico， for the south-boundtrain， which was one hour late. I sat on the porch of theSummit House and discussed the functions of life withTelemachus Hicks， the hotel proprietor.
Perceiving that personalities were not out of order， Iasked him what species of beast had long ago twisted andmutilated his left ear. Being a hunter， I was concerned inthe evils that may befall one in the pursuit of game.
“That ear，” says Hicks， “is the relic of true friendship.”
“An accident？” I persisted.
“No friendship is an accident，” said Telemachus； and Iwas silent.
“The only perfect case of true friendship I ever knew，”
went on my host， “was a cordial intent between aConnecticut man and a monkey. The monkey climbedpalms in Barranquilla and threw down cocoanuts to theman. The man sawed them in two and made dippers，which he sold for two reales each and bought rum. Themonkey drank the milk of the nuts. Through each beingsatisfied with his own share of the graft， they lived likebrothers.
“But in the case of human beings， friendship is atransitory art， subject to discontinuance without furthernotice.
“I had a friend once， of the entitlement of Paisley Fish，that I imagined was sealed to me for an endless space oftime. Side by side for seven years we had mined， ranched，sold patent churns， herded sheep， took photographs andother things， built wire fences， and picked prunes. ThinksI， neither homocide nor flattery nor riches nor sophistrynor drink can make trouble between me and Paisley Fish.
We was friends an amount you could hardly guess at. Wewas friends in business， and we let our amicable qualitieslap over and season our hours of recreation and folly. Wecertainly had days of Damon and nights of Pythias.
“One summer me and Paisley gallops down into theseSan Andres mountains for the purpose of a month’ssurcease and levity， dressed in the natural store habilimentsof man. We hit this town of Los Pinos， which certainlywas a roof-garden spot of the world， and flowing withcondensed milk and honey. It had a street or two， and air，and hens， and a eating-house； and that was enough for us.
“We strikes the town after supper-time， and weconcludes to sample whatever efficacy there is in thiseating-house down by the railroad tracks. By the time wehad set down and pried up our plates with a knife fromthe red oil-cloth， along intrudes Widow Jessup with thehot biscuit and the fried liver.
“Now， there was a woman that would have tempted ananchovy to forget his vows. She was not so small as shewas large； and a kind of welcome air seemed to mitigateher vicinity. The pink of her face was the in hoc signoof a culinary temper and a warm disposition， and hersmile would have brought out the dogwood blossoms inDecember.
“Widow Jessup talks to us a lot of garrulousness aboutthe climate and history and Tennyson and prunes and thescarcity of mutton， and finally wants to know where wecame from.
“‘Spring Valley，’ says I.
“‘Big Spring Valley，’ chips in Paisley， out of a lot ofpotatoes and knuckle-bone of ham in his mouth.
“That was the first sign I noticed that the old fidusDiogenes business between me and Paisley Fish was endedforever. He knew how I hated a talkative person， and yethe stampedes into the conversation with his amendmentsand addendums of syntax. On the map it was Big SpringValley； but I had heard Paisley himself call it Spring Valleya thousand times.
“Without saying any more， we went out after supper andset on the railroad track. We had been pardners too longnot to know what was going on in each other’s mind.
“‘I reckon you understand，’ says Paisley， ‘that I’ve madeup my mind to accrue that widow woman as part andparcel in and to my hereditaments forever， both domestic，sociable， legal， and otherwise， until death us do part.’
“‘Why， yes，’ says I， ‘I read it between the lines， thoughyou only spoke one. And I suppose you are aware，’ saysI， ‘that I have a movement on foot that leads up to thewidow’s changing her name to Hicks， and leaves youwriting to the society column to inquire whether the bestman wears a japonica or seamless socks at the wedding！’
“‘There’ll be some hiatuses in your program，’ saysPaisley， chewing up a piece of a railroad tie. ‘I’d give into you，’ says he， ‘in ’most any respect if it was secularaffairs， but this is not so. The smiles of woman，’ goes onPaisley， ‘is the whirlpool of Squills and Chalybeates， intowhich vortex the good ship Friendship is often drawn anddismembered. I’d assault a bear that was annoying you，’
says Paisley， ‘or I’d endorse your note， or rub the placebetween your shoulder-blades with opodeldoc the same asever； but there my sense of etiquette ceases. In this fracaswith Mrs. Jessup we play it alone. I’ve notified you fair.’
“And then I collaborates with myself， and offers thefollowing resolutions and by-laws：
“‘Friendship between man and man，’ says I， ‘is anancient historical virtue enacted in the days when men hadto protect each other against lizards with eighty-foot tailsand flying turtles. And they’ve kept up the habit to this day，and stand by each other till the bellboy comes up and tellsthem the animals are not really there. I’ve often heard，’ Isays， ‘about ladies stepping in and breaking up a friendshipbetween men. Why should that be？ I’ll tell you， Paisley， thefirst sight and hot biscuit of Mrs. Jessup appears to haveinserted a oscillation into each of our bosoms. Let the bestman of us have her. I’ll play you a square game， and won’tdo any underhanded work. I’ll do all of my courting of herin your presence， so you will have an equal opportunity.
With that arrangement I don’t see why our steamboat offriendship should fall overboard in the medicinal whirlpoolsyou speak of， whichever of us wins out.’