“We-all can’t give him fish-lines, an’ sech,” says Doc Peets, takin’ up Enright’s argument, “for thar ain’t no fish. Skates is likewise barred, thar bein’ no ice; an’ sleds an’ mittens an’ worsted comforters an’ fur caps fails us for causes sim’lar. Little Enright Peets is too young to smoke; Tucson Jennie won’t let him drink licker; thar, with one word, is them two important sources closed ag’in us. Gents, Pm inclined to string my bets with Dave; I offers two for one as we sets yere, that this framin’ up a Christmas play in Arizona as a problem ain’t no slouch.”
“Thar’s picture books,” says Faro Nell.
“Shore!” assents Cherokee Hall, where he’s planted back of his faro box.
“An’ painted blocks!”
“Good!” says Cherokee.
“An’ candy!”
“Nell’s right!” an’ Cherokee coincides plumb through, “Books, blocks, an’ candy, is what I calls startin’ on velvet.”
“Whatever’s the matter,” says Dan Boggs, who’s been rackin’ his intellects a heap, “of givin’ little Enright Peets a faro layout, or mebby now, a roolette wheel? Some of them wheels is mighty gaudy furniture!”
“Dan,” says Enright, an’ his tones is severe; “Dan, be you-all aimin’ to corrupt this child?” Dan subsides a whole lot after this yere reproof.
“I don’t reckon now,” observes Jack Moore, an’ his manner is as one ropin’ for information; “I don’t reckon now a nice, wholesome Colt’s-44, ivory butt, stamped leather belts, an’ all that, would be a proper thing to put in play. Of course, a 8-inch gun is some heavy as a plaything for a infant only seven; but he’d grow to it, gents, he’d grow to it.”