Tintoretto. Don't you touch that skinny little critter with the
shakes. I wouldn't let you eat no such a sugar-coated insect."

The crowd was enjoying the set-to of words immensely. They now looked
to Parky for something hot. But the man of card-skill had little wit
of words.

"Don't git too funny, old boy," he cautioned. "I'd just as soon have
you for breakfast as not."

"I wish the fleas could say as much for you or your imitation dog,"
retorted Jim. "There's just three things in Borealis that go around
smellin' thick of perfume, and you and that little two-ounce package of
dog-degeneration are maybe some worse than the other."

Parky made a belligerent motion, but Webber, the blacksmith, caught his
arm in a powerful grip.

"Not to-day," he said. "The boys don't want no gun-play here this
mornin'."

"You're a lot of old women and babies," said Parky, and pushing through
the group he walked away, a certain graceful insolence in his bearing.

"Speakin' of catfish," said Field, "we ought to git up some kind of a
celebration to welcome Jim's little skeezucks to the camp."

"That's the ticket," agreed Bone. "What's the matter with repeatin'
the programme we had for the Fourth of July?"