I think you're a square man, pard.

I like you, and I'll lick any man that don't.

I'll lick him till he can't tell himself from a last year's corpse! Put it there!" [Another fraternal hand-shake--and exit.] The obsequies were all that "the boys" could desire.

Such a marvel of funeral pomp had never been seen in Virginia.

The plumed hearse, the dirge-breathing brass bands, the closed marts of business, the flags drooping at half mast, the long, plodding procession of uniformed secret societies, military battalions and fire companies, draped engines, carriages of officials, and citizens in vehicles and on foot, attracted multitudes of spectators to the sidewalks, roofs and windows; and for years afterward, the degree of grandeur attained by any civic display in Virginia was determined by comparison with Buck Fanshaw's funeral.
Scotty Briggs, as a pall-bearer and a mourner, occupied a prominent place at the funeral, and when the sermon was finished and the last sentence of the prayer for the dead man's soul ascended, he responded, in a low voice, but with feelings: "AMEN.