The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-02-21
THE BEST MAN.
Les me introdace you to two men.

- Lek me tnAkD4GGS yU.s " kNO AAS1s
 First, to old Lord Arthur Lanton, s reg-tc-du, fzshionable, clubhahie, 6ies .a;rseb ebaeheios. Somewhat old-fashioned, he called yellow t yaller," and always droupcd hia, 6nal g's when talking of readin' or dinin' out. He wore blue snotted cra~at, buff waistcoat, gera- r;um in his abutsonhole, and a gold mounted eycglsss, which he held to, but never stuck in, his left eye. At the time of which ! write he was ffty-three and a half. gouty, crackly as to voice, and rather affected in nmannex. He had veeasd considerably, abou, the time of the Cri- mean war, and nov he played piquet, and belonged to all the clubs that are called after the names of the defunct codee-house keepers.
 He lived in fat A, Regency mansions, Victoria street; and his rooms, decorated vith old prints, were filled with baths and pipes, and tubes for carrying up roast chickens inside the walls, and things for taking to people ever so far away, and other evidences of confirmed luxury ; and he was on geod terms with his brother, the duke of Dorset.
 Secondly, to young Lord Arthur Lan- ton-generally called Art" for short, by his own set. He wore high collars, a black satin scarf with a pearl pin in it, a waistccat, n gardenia in his buttonhole, and an unmounted eyeglass, which he never held to, but always, even when asleep, it is said, stuck in his right eye. He was twenty.six, muscular, good look ing, and winning in ali his ways-ex except at whist. He played polo, and shot pigeons, and belonged to the New club and various "juniors." He lived in flat B, Regency mansions; and he, too, had heshs. and tnhes and many modern photographs, and cavern full of soda water, and other things, and he was by no means on good terms with his father, the duke of Dorset. From all which things can be gathered'his differentiation, as scientists say, from his uncle, who lived in the flat below hlm.
 Art Lanton had been scrapish, not to say scampish and rumor had it that he had offended the ducal head of the family by giving party of mixed and somewhat dramatic character at Dorset house, into the middle of which the duke had most unjusti6ably popped. How ever, his chief grouad of offence was that be had recently been afectionately a6fch<d, and indeed openly devoted, to Miss Harry Horton. Her name was Harriet; but everybody had called her Harry ever since she was schoolgirl.
 To describe with anything like fidelity dear Harry Horton would take up sev- eral consecutive numbers of this journal, which might possibly irritate tke solvers of the acrostics and the people who read the city article. Suffice it that she was graceful and svelk< that she had tossed brown hair. violet eyes-big, deep-lashed, rather mournful. soui-destroying, real violet eyes that from a mouth that was rather mHtfse she was won't to laugh, as it were, with tiny peal of silver bells 1; that she had hosts of adoIers; that she rode with perfect hands and danced with perfect feet that she was brave, girlish girl; aHd that she was the most down. right, audacious. and deliberate firt in London. This tendency of Harry's arose from buoyant animal spirits, quick sense of humor, and perfectly innocent desire to please people. This, however, is subtle matter of psychological analy-
  longs in no way to this veracious chroni- cle.
 "Art" and Harry" certainly made a pretty pair wherever they went. Ascot, Birmingham, and the Row knew them well; and there was a firm and close al- liance be:ween them, spite of the many keen encounters of their wits," which, regret to say, frequently led to rude things being said, to pique and petulance on one side, and to gro wings and going away after grouse on the other. For all that they never sent back photographs, or did anything so absurd as to ask for old letters to be destroyed, or to "bury the past" as sentimental folk and poet people do in like cases. They simply sulked, longed for reconciliation, and made no move till picnic or water party brought them together, and then it was either, Harry, was beast" or "Art Pm sorry "-sometimes only glance from the violet eyes, or an abrupt ring crushing grip from big brown hand l; but, at all events, Harry's make up" q don't imply, m ark you, that the lady had studied the mysteries of Mae9ai!lage) and Arts unconditional surrender were always full and complete.
 They were not engaged, nor had they ever spoken of such thing bat they were " chums," or, at least, so they said to each other. Their sympathies lay chiefly in mutual dislikings of certain people and ways of life. High art in all its forms, creative, critical, and emotional, they were won't to make almost malicious fun over Shakespeare. Burne-J Jones, Wag- ner, the Society for Psychical Research, melancholy bards, earnest actors with purposes, and generally the group that Art Low Art she called him) was won't to irreverently allude to as " The Serious Johnnies," were their pet aversiop.; but there were certain players, and play houses, and newspapers, and race-meet- ings, whose names forget, that they sedulously patronized. They also liked each other, in which last particular l must admit that they were not to blame, particularly at the moments of tender truce-making referred to. They were both poor for Art, younger son, had