“What you havin’?” he suddenly broke off to ask, as the barkeeper signified his readiness to attend to them.
“I’m drinking lemonade,” Gard said, and the cow-puncher took another look at him.
“Gimme the same,” he finally told the barkeeper, with serious politeness.
“Mebby I’d oughter beg your pardon”; he turned to Gard with a look of anxiety on his face. “I reckon I was a little careless in my talk if you happen to be a sin-buster.”
“A what?”
“Sin-buster. You sabe bronco-buster, don’t you; an’ trust-buster?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well then, ain’t sin-buster plain United States? It’s what a preacher-feller oughter be if he’s on his job, ain’t it?”
“I guess it is,” was Gard’s reply, “but I’m not a preacher. I just haven’t been drinking much of late years, and don’t know ’s I care to.”
“Oh! that’s it? Well lemonade ’s pretty good stuff,” the cow-puncher said, cheerfully. “I can’t seem to remember when I’ve had none, but I reckon it’ll taste first rate. I ordered it thinkin’ you was maybe religious.”