say it was?" demanded the hopeful operator, genially.
The puncher gripped his two dollars firmly, shifted his weight as much as possible on his sound leg, and scowled: he knew where it was. "Do I look like a kid? Do you reckon you have to coax like a fool to get me all primed up to show how re-markably smart an' quick I am? You don't; I know how smart I am. Say, you ain't, not by any kinda miracle, a blind papoose, are you?" he demanded.
"What you mean?" asked the other, smiling as he waited for the joke. It did not come, so he continued. "Don't take no harm in my fool wind-jammin', stranger. It's in th' game. It 's a habit; I 've said it so much I just can't help it no more—I up an' says it at a funeral once; that is, part of it—th' first part. That's dead right! But I reckon I 'm wastin' my time—unless you happen to feel coltish an' hain't got nothin' to do for an age. I 've been playin' in hard luck th' last week or so—you see, I ain't as good as I uster be. I ain't quite so quick, an'
