England, where
he had picked up the "good man" habit. I told him that it might suit
that climate all right, but that out our way I couldn't recommend it to
a peace-lovin' man for every-day use. He thanked me an' said he was
ashamed to know so little about his own country, this bein' the first
time he had ever been west of Philadelphia. He said that he was minded
to become an author, an' had come out to study the aboriginal types an'
get the true local color. Whenever I hear this little bunch o' sounds,
I know I got a nibble. Any time a man goes nosin' around after local
color, you can bet your saddle he's got several zigzags in his
think-organ.

These fellers is a breed to themselves. I wouldn't exactly call 'em
wise--wordy'd come a sight nearer fittin' these local-color fellers
without wrinklin'. The''s a ringin' in my ears yet from the time that I
was penned up with Hammy an' Locals, an' this one had a good many o'
the same outward an' visible signs, but more o' the inward an'
spiritual grace, as Friar Tuck sez.

Bill slid right into our mode of livin' like a younger brother, but it
took us some consid'able time to savvy his little private oddities.
The' was one wide bunk in the shack an' one narrow one. Me an' Bill
took the wide one, but it wasn't so eternal wide that a feller could
flop around altogether accordin' to the dictates of his own conscience.
When she was carryin' double we had to hold a little consultation of
war, to see whether we'd turn over or not.

We used to start out early in the mornin', an' if the' wasn't much
fixin' to be done we got back long before dark. About seven-thirty was
our perchin' time before Bill took a hand, but after that we got so
convivual that sometimes we'd sit up till purt' nigh half-past nine,
playin' cut-throat an' swappin' tales. Sleep allus was a kind of a
nuisance to Bill. Purt' nigh every night when me an' the Kid would
stretch ourselves out, Bill would speak a piece about "God bless the
man what first invented sleep"; but he was only joshin', an' all the
time he was sayin' it he'd be buildin' up the fire an' changin' his
clothes. He had one suit which he never wore for nothin' except just to
sleep in. Pajamers, he called 'em, an' they sure was purty.

Well, he'd put on this suit an' a pair o' red-pointed slippers, light
his pipe, pick his guitar, an' saw his fiddle till along toward
mornin', all the while singin' little batches o' song an' speakin'
pieces. Then he'