and such. Ho! ho! I remember there was a big, pompous critter of an
Englishman there. Mind you, I'm not talkin' against the English. Some of
the best men I ever met were English, and I've stood back to back with
a British mate on a Genoa wharf when half of Italy was hoppin' around
makin' proclamations that they was goin' to swallow us alive. And,
somehow or 'nother, they didn't. Took with prophetic indigestion, maybe.

"However, this Englishman at Acapulco was diff'rent. He was so swelled
with importance that his back hollered in like Cape Cod Bay on the map.
His front bent out to correspond, though, so I cal'late he averaged up
all right. Well, he heard about what a good--that I was pretty lucky
when it come to shootin' wild geese, and I'm blessed if he didn't send
me orders to get him one for a dinner he was goin' to give. Didn't
ask--ORDERED me to do it, you understand. And him nothin' but a
consignee, with no more control over me than the average female
Sunday-school teacher has over a class of boys. Not so much, because
she's supposed to have official authority, and he wa'n't. AND he didn't
invite me to the dinner.

"Well, the next time my friend, the ex-consul, and I went out gunnin',
I told him of the Englishman's 'orders.' He was mad. 'What are you goin'
to do about it?' he asks. 'Don't know yet,' says I, 'we'll see.' By and
by we come in sight of one of them long-legged cranes, big birds you
know, standin' fishin' at the edge of some reeds. I up with my gun and
shot it. The consul chap looked at me as if I was crazy. 'What in the
world did you kill that fish-basket on stilts for?' he says. 'Son,'
says I, 'your eyesight is bad. That's a British-American goose. Chop off
about three feet of neck and a couple of fathom of hind legs and pick
and clean what's left, and I shouldn't wonder if 'twould make a good
dinner for a mutual friend of ours--good ENOUGH, anyhow.' Well, sir!