"Where's my pipe?"

"Don't you ask ME where your pipe is," snapped Bill. "Yonder it is
in the comer where you dropped it."

Willock picked it up, and slowly recovered himself. "You see," he
observed apologetically, "I need Lahoma about, to keep me tame. I
was wondering the other day if I could swear if I wanted to. I
guess I could. And if put to it, I guess I could take up my old
life and not be very awkward about it, either--I used to be a
tax-collector, and of course got rubbed up against many people that
didn't want to pay. That there Gledware--well! maybe it isn't this
one Lahoma writes about, but the one I knew is just about middle
age, and he's a widower, all right, or the next thing to it--I
didn't like Gledware. That was all. I hate for Lahoma to be
throwed with anybody of the name--but I guess it's all right.
Lahoma ain't going to let nobody get on her off-side, when the
wind's blowing."

Bill inquired anxiously, "Did that Gledware you knew, live near
Kansas City?"

"He lived over in Indian Territory, last time I heard of him. But
he was a roving devil--he might be anywhere. Only--he wasn't rich;
why, he didn't have nothing on earth except a little--yes, except
a little."

"Then he can't be the owner of a big estate," remarked Wilfred, with
relief.