gs 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 sidehills or
flyin' insects. Their breasts was all right, though--"And think of
them drumsticks for the boardinghouse trade!" says Tusky.

So far things wasn't so bad. We had a good grubstake. Tusky and me
used to feed them chickens twict a day, and then used to set around
watchin' the playful critters chase grasshoppers up an' 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 towerist
was paradin' up and down allowin' they was particular enjoyin' of the
warm Californy sunshine. One old terrapin, with grey chin whiskers,
projected over, with his wife, and took a peek through the slats of my
coop. He straightened up like someone 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'
stronger than this. If these is chickens, I don't want to see no Big
Trees."

Well, I sold them chickens all right for a dollar and two bits, which
was better than I expected, and got an order for more. About ten days
later I got a letter from the commission house.

"We are returnin' a sample of your Arts and Crafts chickens with the
lovin' marks of the teeth still onto him," says they. "Don't send any
more till they stops pursuin' of the nimble grasshopper. Dentist bill
will foller."

With the letter came the remains of one of the chickens. Tusky and I,
very indignant, cooked her for supper. She was tough, all right. We
thought she might do better biled, so we put her in the pot over night.
Nary bit. Well, then we got interested.