I hope that donkey of ours isn't a psychic donkey, or, if he
is, that he'll listen to reason and be content with his escorts of flesh
and blood."
As he finished speaking, the quiet of the evening was broken by a lusty,
"Hee-haw, hee-haw," in front of the house.
"There, I told you so!" ejaculated the painter.
Laughing, the two men followed Czar down the walk, in the dark, to
receive the shaggy, long-eared companion for their wanderings.
As many a man has done--Aaron King had spoken, in jest, more truth than he
knew.
Chapter XIV
In The Mountains
In the gray of the early morning, hours before the dwellers on Fairlands
Heights thought of leaving their beds, Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange made
ready for their going.
The burro, Croesus--so named by the novelist because, as the famous writer
explained, "that ancient multi-millionaire, you know, really was an
ass"--was to be entrusted with all the available worldly possessions of
the little party. An arrangement--the more experienced man carefully
pointed out--that, considering the chief characteristics of Croesus, was
quite in accord with the customs of modern pilgrimages. Conrad Lagrange,
himself, skillfully fixed the pack in place--adjusting the saddle with
careful hand; accurately dividing the weight, with the blankets on top,
and, over all, the canvas tarpaulin folded the proper size and neatly
tucked in around the ends; and finally securing the whole with the, to the
uninitiated, intricate and complicated diamond hitch.
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