"I'm the new foreman," sez I in a school-girl voice, "an' I want my
supper."

He wasn't prepared for it an' dropped his gun to his side while he
began to narrate false an' profane eulogies about my breedin' an'
past history. He took a few steps toward me so as I wouldn't lose
none of his remarks, an' all of a sudden I swung half around an'
kicked him in the jaw with my heel, which was a trick I had learned
from a French sailor. It took me forty-five minutes to come to,
after I received my first an' only lesson, an' I wasted a full year
huntin' for that sailor. Any time durin' the first six months I'd
have ventilated him completely, but after that I wanted to thank
him, 'cause I had learned an' tried the trick by that time, an' it
was worth all it cost.

But this cook was no wax figger, an' he only lay quiet a moment
before he began to roll around an' groan. I picked up a neck yoke
what was handy, an' I went for him. I hit him in the butt o' the ear
an' on the back o' the neck an' in the center o' the forehead--I
tried him out in all the most stylish places, until finally he dozed
off.

"Bring me a lantern--you man with the whiskers," I called out.

He riz to his feet like a machine. "It ain't filled," he said.

"I don't know much about fillin' LANTERNS," I remarked to him
kindly, "but I have had some experience in fillin' other things.
Bring me the lantern, filled an' lighted--and don't keep me
waitin'."