PAINTED ROCK
was Texas I originated in. It appeared he was an Amer'can, and we talked a bit, and he told me hayf the men in the bar-room was the worst sort. And I went out later and wandered here and thar and everywhere, and finding it mighty lonely, though as full of interest as any dime novel, boys. But I begun to feel as if I hed to hev someone to speak to or bust, and that skeered me some, for ez a stranger in a great city at night I feared I'd fall into bad company. And perhaps my lookin' s'if I was from Texas made folks speak to me. And you see, boys, I'm tall and big, and there wuz few bigger on the street than me. And my cow-hat seemed to excite cur'osity. And then about this time the streets was plumb full, a regular jam of gals and gentlemen—fellers in a rig-out I'd never seen beefore, mostly shirt-front and studs, cur'ous to see, but what for I didn't tumble to. The street was thick with the London buggies, queer concerns with a man on top at the back of 'em, with his lines goin' over the front, the derndest arrangement I ever heerd of. And there was trouble
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