TELEMACHUS, FRIENDReturning 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
mo
