"Yes," replied Robert decidedly; "or it 'pears so to me."

"That's how the woman 'peared to me. She was tousled, and looked
wild out of her eyes. The man says, says he, 'What do you want?' I
s'ze, 'Can I git a bite here?'"

Robert had frequently explained to Zene the utter nonsense of this
abbreviation, "I s'ze," but Zene invariably returned to it, perhaps
dimly reasoning that he had a right to the dignity of third person
when repeating what he had said. If he said of another man, "says
he," why could he not remark of himself, "I says he?" He considered
it not only correct, but ornamental.

"The man says, says he, 'We don't keep foot-pads.' And I s'ze--for I
was mad--'I ain't no more a foot-pad than you are,' I s'ze. 'I've got
a team and a wagon out here,' I s'ze, 'and pervisions too, but I've
got the means to pay for a warm bite,' I s'ze, 'and if you can't
accommodate me, I s'pose there's other neighbors that can.'"

"You shouldn't told him you had money and things!" exclaimed Robert,
bulging his eyes.

"I see that, soon's I done it," returned Zene, shaking a line over
the near horse. "The woman spoke up, and she says, says she, 'There
ain't any neighbor nigher than five miles.' Thinks I, this settlement
looked thicker than that. But I doesn't say yea or no to it. And they
had me come in and eat. I paid twenty-five cents for such a meal as
your gran'marm wouldn't have set down on her table."

"What did they have?"