«Telemachus, Friend» in inglese

Returning from a hunting trip, I waited at the little town of Los Pinos, in New Mexico, for the south-bound train, which was one hour late.

I sat on the porch of the Summit House and discussed the functions of life with Telemachus Hicks, the hotel proprietor.

Perceiving that personalities were not out of order, I asked him what species of beast had long ago twisted and mutilated his left ear.

Being a hunter, I was concerned in the 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 I was silent.

"The only perfect case of true friendship I ever knew," went on my host, "was a cordial intent between a Connecticut man and a monkey.

The monkey climbed palms in Barranquilla and threw down cocoanuts to the man.

The man sawed them in two and made dippers, which he sold for two reales each and bought rum.

The monkey drank the milk of the nuts.

Through each being satisfied with his own share of the graft, they lived like brothers.

"But in the case of human beings, friendship is a transitory art, subject to discontinuance without further notice.

"I had a friend once, of the entitlement of Paisley Fish, that I imagined was sealed to me for an endless space of time.

Side by side for seven years we had mined, ranched, sold patent churns, herded sheep, took photographs and other things, built wire fences, and picked prunes.

Thinks I, neither homocide nor flattery nor riches nor sophistry nor drink can make trouble between me and Paisley Fish.

We was friends an amount you could hardly guess at.

We was friends in business, and we let our amicable qualities lap over and season our hours of recreation and folly.

We certainly had days of Damon and nights of Pythias.

"One summer me and Paisley gallops down into these San Andres mountains for the purpose of a month's surcease and levity, dressed in the natural store habiliments of man.

We hit this town of Los Pinos, which certainly was a roof-garden spot of the world, and flowing with condensed milk and honey.