ograsslin'. I felt like doin' them boys ser'us damage, but they're
young, and life spreads green and promisin' befo' 'em, like a banana
tree; consequently I prefer jus' to tell you my time is handed in."

Charley was proudly erect. His arms stretched aloft. His one yellow
tooth rested on his lower lip; his face, the thickness and texture of a
much-worn leather pocketbook, showed a tinge of colour as the words
went to his head like wine.

Steve looked at the floor. "Too bad, Charley; too bad," he said in
grave sympathy. "But probably we can fix it up. Now, as we have
company, would you mind hitting the breakfast trail?"

"After I've made a few remarks," returned Charles haughtily.

Steve dropped on a stool. "Sick your pup on," he said. Charley leaped
at the opportunity.

"There _are_ some things I sh'd like to mention," said he. We noted
with pleasure that he wore his sarcastic manner. "F'r instance, you
doubtless behold them small piles of snow on the floo', which has come
in through certain an' sundry holes in the wall that orter been chinked
last fall. Is it _my_ place to chink them holes? The oldes' an' mose
_ex_periunced man in the hull cat-hop? I reckon otherwise. Then why
didn't they git chinked? Why is it that the snows and winds of an
outraged and jus'ly indignant Providence is allowed to introdoose
theirselves into this company unrebuked?

"I have heard a' great deal, su', about the deadenin' effeck produced
upon man's vigger by a steady, reliable, so'thern climate. As a
citizen of the State of Texas fo' twenty years I repel the expersion
with scorn and hoomiliation. Nevertheless and notwithstanding,
'lowing' that to be the truth, did you encounter anything in this here
country to produce such an effeck? For Gawd's sake, su', if there's
anything in variety, a man livin' here orter lay holt of the grass
roots, fur fear he'd git so durn strong he couldn't stay on the face of
the yearth. Ef it ain't so sinful cold that yer ears'll drap off at a
touch, it's so hell-fire hot that a man's features melt all over his
face, and ef it ain't so solemn still that you're scart to death, the
wind'll blow the buttonholes outer yer clo's'. I have seen it do a
hull yearful of stunts in twenty-four hours, encludin' hot an' cold
weather, thunderstorms, drought, high water, and a blizzard. That
settles the climate question. Then what is it that has let them holes
go unchinked? I'll tell you, su'; it's