had never.

"Ought to," said Drake.

"You a man? that can't be true!
Men have never eyes like you."

That's what the girls in the harem sing in the second act. Golly whiz!"
The boy gleamed over the memory of that evening.

"You have a hard job before you," said the school-master, changing the
subject.

"Yep. Hard." The wary Drake shook his head warningly at Mr. Bolles to
keep off that subject, and he glanced in the direction of slumbering
Uncle Pasco. Uncle Pasco was quite aware of all this. "I wouldn't take
another lonesome job so soon," pursued Drake, "but I want the money. I've
been working eleven months along the Owyhee as a sort of junior boss, and
I'd earned my vacation. Just got it started hot in Portland, when biff!
old Vogel telegraphs me. Well, I'll be saving instead of squandering. But
it feels so good to squander!"

"I have never had anything to squander," said Bolles, rather sadly.

"You don't say! Well, old man, I hope you will. It gives a man a lot
he'll never get out of spelling-books. Are you cold? Here." And despite
the school-master's protest, Dean Drake tucked his buffalo coat round and
over him. "Some day, when I'm old," he went on, "I mean to live
respectable under my own cabin and vine. Wife and everything. But not,
anyway, till I'm thirty-five."