n' his
arms and shufflin' his feet. When he got warmed up and goin' good, he
pushed forward at you with his hands like he was tryin' to insert his
chatter right into you.

He leads us to a spot about half a mile from where we come in, holds up
his hands to Heaven, coughs, blows his nose and gives a little shiver.

"Over there!" he bellers, without no warnin'. "Over there is our
marvelous, mastadon, mixin' shop. We use 284,651 pounds of
scrupulously sifted and freshly flavored flour, one million cakes of
elegant yeast and 156,390 pounds of bakin' powder each and every year!
We employ 865 magnificent men there and they get munificent money. We
don't permit the use of drugs, alcoholics, tobacco or unions! The men
works eight easy hours a delightful day, six days a week and they are
happy, hardy and healthy! Promotion is regular, rapid and regardless!
Our employees is all loyal, likable and Lithuanians! They own their
own cottages, clothes and chickens, bein' thrifty, temperate and--"

"Tasty!" I yells. I couldn't, keep it in no longer!

"What?" snaps the little guy, kinda sore.

"Lay off, Stupid!" says the Kid to me, with a openly admirin' glance at
the runt. "Go on with your story," he nods to him. "Never mind
Senseless, here, I'm gettin' every word of it!"

The little hick glares at me and points to a shack on the left.

"Over there," he pipes. "Over there is our shippin' plant where the
freshly finished and amazingly appetizin' loaves are carefully counted
and accurately assembled! For this painstakin' performance we employ
523 more men. None but the skilled, superior
and--and--eh--Scandinavian are allowed in that diligent department, and
each and every day a grand, glorious total of ten thousand lovely
loaves is let loose with nothin' missin' but the consumer's contented
cackle as he eagerly eats! We even garnish each loaf with a generous
gob of Gazoopis--our own ingenuous invention--before they finally
flitter forth! Would you like to see the shop?"

"I certainly wish _I_ could sling chatter like that!" answers the Kid
with a sigh. "But I guess it's all in the way a guy was brung up.
Gobs of generous Gazoopis!" he mutters, turnin' the words over in his
mouth like they was sweet morsels. "Gobs of generous Gazoopis! Oh,
boy!"

The little guy throws out his chest and bows with a "I-thank-you" look
all over his face. He got me sore just watchin' him. Y'know that runt
hated himself!

"Say!"