"'Oh, I don't know,' says Whiskers. 'I guess Little Old New York can
take care of herself. I guess I know a man that's on the square when I
see him. I've always found the Western people all right. I ask you as
a favor, Mr. Peters,' says he, 'to keep that roll in your pocket for
me. I know a gentleman when I see him. And now let's have some more
beer.'

"In about ten minutes this fall of manna leans back in his chair and
snores. Andy looks at me and says: 'I reckon I'd better stay with him
for five minutes or so, in case the waiter comes in.'

"I went out the side door and walked half a block up the street. And
then I came back and sat down at the table.

"'Andy,' says I, 'I can't do it. It's too much like swearing off
taxes. I can't go off with this man's money without doing something to
earn it like taking advantage of the Bankrupt act or leaving a bottle
of eczema lotion in his pocket to make it look more like a square
deal.'

"'Well,' says Andy, 'it does seem kind of hard on one's professional
pride to lope off with a bearded pard's competency, especially after
he has nominated you custodian of his bundle in the sappy insouciance
of his urban indiscrimination. Suppose we wake him up and see if we
can formulate some commercial sophistry by which he will be enabled to
give us both his money and a good excuse.'

"We wakes up Whiskers. He stretches himself and yawns out the
hypothesis that he must have dropped off for a minute. And then he