"Don’t be hard on old Simmy; remember he’s studied for the ministry! How
did I savey that Simpson aimed to be a sharp on doctrine?" A cow-puncher
with a squint addressed the table in general. "I scents the aroma of dogma
about Simpson in the way he throwed his conversational lariat at the
yearling. He urbanes at her, and then comes his ’firstly,’ it being a
speculation as to her late grazing-ground, which he concludes to be the
East. His ’secondly’ ain’t nothing startling, words familiar to us all
from our mother’s knee—’nice weather’—the congregation ain’t visibly
moved. His ’thirdly’ is insinuating. In it he hints that it ain’t good for
man to be alone at meals—"

"’Twas the congregation that added the ’foinelly,’ though, before hastily
leaving be the back door!" and Costigan slapped his thigh.

"The gentleman in question don’t seem to be makin’ much use of his present
conversational opportunities. I’m feelin’ kinder turned down myself"; and
the Texan began to look over his six-shooter.

The man with the squint looked up and down the board.

"Gentlemen, I believe the foregoing expresses the sentiment of this
company, which, while it incloodes many foreign and frequent-warring
elements, is at present held together by the natchral tie of eating."

Thumping with knife and fork handles, stamping of feet, cries of "Hear!
hear!" with at least three cow-boy yells, argued well for a resumption of
last night’s festivities. Simpson glowered, but said nothing.

"Seems to me you-all goin’ the wrong way ’bout drawin’ Mistu’ Simpson out.