sees he's good people fast enough; still I allows a small, brief
jolt mebby does hire good.

"'Well,' I says, intendin' to let him know I'm alive an' wakeful
that a-way; 'well, whatever my callin' is, at least it ain't been no
part of my bringin' up to let mere strangers stroll into the corral
an' cinch a saddle onto me for a conversational canter, jest because
they're disp'sitioned that a-way. "'No offence meant,' says the old
party, an' I observes he grows red an' ashamed plumb up to his white
ha'r. "Excuse me, amigo," I says, handin' out my paw, which he
seizes all radiant an' soon, "I ain't intendin' nothin' blunt, nor
to slam no door on better acquaintance, but when you--all ropes at
me about what you refers to as my "callin"' that time, I ain't jest
lookin' for a stranger to take sech interest in me, an' I'm startled
into bein' onp'lite. I tharfore tenders regrets, an', startin' all
over, states without reserve that I'm a cow man. "An' now,' I
retorts, further, "merely to play my hand out, an' not that I looks
to take a trick at all, let me ask what pursoots do you p'int out on
as a pretext for livin'?"

"'Me?' says the old party, stabbin' at his shirt bosom with his
thumb; 'me? I'm a scientist.' "'Which the news is exhilaratin' an'
interestin',' I says; 'shake ag'in! If thar's one thin-I regyards
high, it's a scientist. Whatever partic'lar wagon-track do you-all
follow off, may I ask?' "It's then this old gent an' I la'nches into
a gen'ral discussion onder the head of mes'lancous business, I
reckons, an' lie puts it up his long suit, as he calls it, is `moral
epidemics.' He says he's wrote one book onto 'em, an' sw'ar:; he'll
write another if nobody heads him off; the same bein' on-likely. As
he sees how I'm interested, the old sport sets down an' lays it out