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signed John Fleming, but the body and sig nature of the note were in black ink. I at once recognized the handwriting, and, though the note was a little off color, so to speak, I went in answer to the summons. I found a man past middle life, detained on the charge of intoxication and not yet fully re covered from that conc.tion. To this time I had never seen the John Fleming of whom I am talking, but in a short conversation with the prisoner, I learned that he was my Flem ing—"Reddy Fleming," as 1 had once called him to my clerk. The matter was arranged, as such things usually are, by a plea of guilty and the payment of a light fine. In the course of the proceeding, it became neces sary for my client to sign his name, and I, meaning to show that I remembered his methods, dipped the pen in red ink before handing it to him. But with a show of an ger, he flung it aside. This transaction closed, I never saw him again. "About three years afterward, a lady called at my office to secure my services in the pro bating of a will, which, she informed me, her husband had drafted himself. I took the document to examine it and every word, save the signatures of the witnesses, was written in bright red ink. It was the will of the erratic Irishman, Fleming, whom I was informed, had died recently. "The will was filed, the subscribing wit» nesses, one of whom was the family physician of the deceased, answered the formal ques tions as to execution and capacity satisfac torily, and the last will and testament of

John Fleming was, after a few facetious re marks by the court about the grotesque ap pearance of so sombre a document, duly ad mitted to probate. "I asked the doctor to accompany me to my office, which was near at hand. As soon as we were there, I told him of my ex periences with the deceased; at which he smiled dryly. Then I asked him rather bluntly, 'But was he sane?' He thought a moment and then said, 'Let me explain. Fleming was a man whose whole life was dominated by one great vice. It was his absolute master when he yielded to it; and, when for a time he had subdued it, he seemed strangely impressed with a fear that he might be suspected of being under its spell. He was a periodical drunkard; the drunkest of the debauched, when on his sprees, and the soberest of sober men in the intervals be tween. When not drunk, he was more care ful of his reputation for temperance and so briety than the strictest of prohibitionists, and always fearful that some one might sus pect that he had been drinking. This state of mind led him to many absurdities. He sought to impress his acts, when not under the control of his evil appetite, with some distinguishing features. He had unusual ways of doing certain things when sober, ap parently to draw attention to the fact that he was sober. His unvarying habit of writ ing with red ink when not under the influ ence of drink, which no doubt led to your question, was one of these. Yes, he was sane, unquestionably sane.'"

STUDIES IN GOLD BRICKS, My Client Who Bought One. IT was the old story. The noble Red In dian had found a mine. He wanted money for a medicine dance on the grave of his dead brother. He escaped from the res

ervation and came East with the gold brick wrapped in a fine figured oil-cloth. A kind go-between introduced the farmer to the Indian lurking in the woods, fearing re capture and return to his reservation. But