I've filled his old hide so full of hop you
could knock his eyes off with a club, tryin' to make him cop, but he
won't come through--third is the best he'll do.
"One day about noon I'm standin' lookin' in the stall door, watchin'
him mince over his oats. They ain't nothin' good about this dog--not
even his appetite. I ain't had a real feed myself fur three days, 'n'
when I sees this ole counterfeit mussin' over his grub I opens up on
him.
"'Why, you last year's bird's nest!' I says to him. 'What th' hell
right have you got to be fussy with your eats? They ain't a oat in
that box but what out-classes you--they've all growed faster'n you can
run! The only thing worse'n you is a ticket on you to win. If I pulls
your shoes off 'n' has my choice between you 'n' them--I takes the
shoes. If I wouldn't be pinched fur it I gives you to the first nut
they lets out of the bughouse--you sour-bellied-mallet-headed-yellow
pup! You cross between a canary 'n' a mud-turtle!'
"That gets me sort-a warmed up, 'n' then I begins to really tell this
dog what the sad sea waves is sayin'. When I can't think of nothin'
more to call him, I stops.
"'Outside of that he's all right, ain't he?' says some one behind me.
"'No,' I says, 'he has other faults besides.'
"I turns round 'n' there's a fat guy with a cigar in his face. He's
been standin' there listenin'. He's got a chunk of ice stuck in his
chest that you have to look at through smoked glasses.
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