room were laughing at him - the parrot was such a disreputable
puff of green feathers and it looked so human when it chattered.
Losson used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on the side of the cot,
and ask the parrot what it thought of Simmons. The parrot would
answer: "Simmons, ye so-oor." Good boy," Losson used to say,
scratching the parrot's head; "ye 'ear that, Sim?" And Simmons
used to turn over on his stomach and make answer: "I 'ear. Take
'eed you don't 'ear something one of these days."

In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of
blind rage came upon Simmons and held him till he trembled all
over, while he thought in how many different ways he would slay
Losson. Sometimes he would picture himself trampling the life out
of the man with heavy ammunition-boots, and at others smashing in
his face with the butt, and at others jumping on his shoulders and
dragging the head back till the neckbone cracked. Then his mouth
would feel hot and fevered, and he would reach out for another sup
of the beer in the pannikin.

But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with him
longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under
Losson's right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and
thereafter it was always before his eyes. It was a fascinating
roll of fat. A man could get his hand upon it and tear away one
side of the neck; or he could place the muzzle of a rifle on it
and blow away all the head in a flash. Losson had no right to be
sleek and contented and well-to-do, when he, Simmons, was the butt
of the room. Some day, perhaps, he would show those who laughed at
the "Simmons, ye so-oor" joke, that he was as good as the rest,
and held a man's life in the crook of his forefinger. When Losson