two foot and a half tall, and when they went to peck
the ground their tail feathers stuck straight up to the sky. Tusky
called 'em Japanese Games.

"Which the chief advantage of them chickens is," says he, "that in
weight about ninety per cent. of 'em is breast meat. Now my idee is,
that if we can cross 'em with these Cochin Chiny fowls we'll have a
low-hung, heavy-weight chicken runnin' strong on breast meat. These Jap
Games is too small, but if we can bring 'em up in size and shorten their
laigs, we'll shore have a winner."

That looked good to me, so we started in on that idee. The theery was
bully, but she didn't work out. The first broods we hatched growed up
with big husky Cochin Chiny bodies and little short necks, perched up
on laigs three foot long. Them chickens couldn't reach ground nohow. We
had to build a table for 'em to eat off, and when they went out rustlin'
for themselves they had to confine themselves to side-hills or flyin'
insects. Their breasts was all right, though--"And think of them
drumsticks for the boardin'-house trade!" says Tusky.

So far things wasn't so bad. We had a good grub-stake. Tusky and me used
to feed them chickens twict a day, and then used to set around watchin'
the playful critters chase grasshoppers up and down the wire corrals,
while Tusky figgered out what'd happen if somebody was dumfool enough to
gather up somethin' and fix it in baskets or wagons or such. That was
where we showed our ignorance of chickens.

One day in the spring I hitched up, rustled a dozen of the youngsters
into coops, and druv over to the railroad to make our first sale. I
couldn't fold them chickens up into them coops at first, but then I
stuck the coops up on aidge and they worked all right, though I will
admit they was a comical sight. At the railroad one of them towerist
trains had just slowed down to a halt as I come up, and the towerists
was paradin' up and down allowin' they was particular enjoyin' of the
warm Californy sunshine. One old terrapin with gray chin whiskers,
projected over, with his wife, and took a peek through the slats of my
coop. He straightened up like some one had touched him off with a
red-hot poker.

"Stranger," said he, in a scared kind of whisper, "what's them?"

"Them's chickens," says I.

He took another long look.

"Marthy," says he to the old woman, "this will be about all! We come out
from Ioway to see the Wonders of Californy, but I can't go nothin'
strong