“Good-by,” says he. “Hope you git to shoot that gun like a champeen. Maybe I’ll see you ag’in some day.”
“Come around any time,” says I; “and, if you hain’t got any objection, I’ll drop around your place.”
“Come ahead,” says he. “Maybe we’ll still be there, and I guess I kin stand it if you kin.” He started off, but he stopped and says: “Your Dad—die’s all right. I like your Dad.”
CHAPTER II
It was a day or two afterward that I run across Catty Atkins poking along the road on the edge of town, all alone. I hollered to him and he stopped.
“How’s things?” says I.
“Sich as there is, they’re perty fair,” says he. “Hain’t moved on yet?”
He sort of grinned. “Oh yes. We left for Philadelphy two days ago. Arrived there about ten this mornin’.”
“Huh!” says I. “Come on back to my house and let’s shoot with my rifle.”
“Don’t guess I better,” he said, kind of hesitating, but I could see he wanted to come.