“How d’you know?” says I.
“Because,” says he, “I’ll make ’em.”
“Don’t bite off more ’n you kin chaw,” says I.
“Look here,” says he, “are you g-g-goin’ to lay down on this job? Because if you be I kin take Tallow or Binney. They won’t git cold f-f-feet.”
“I’ll stick,” says I, “but we hain’t got a chance.”
“Anybody’s always got a chance,” says he. “Folks can make chances. Anything that’s p-p-possible kin be done if you stick to it and use your head. This here is p-possible and it’s necessary. I’m goin’ to git them freight-cars.”
That was just like him. You couldn’t scare him and you couldn’t discourage him. He would stick to anything till you sawed him loose. I guess maybe there was some bulldog in him, or something. Maybe he had had a meal of glue some day and that made him stick to things. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him when he showed that he was discouraged, and I really don’t believe he ever was discouraged. No, sir; he got so interested in trying to do whatever it was that he wanted to do that he forgot all about how hard it was. And I guess that’s a good idea.
CHAPTER XIII
I like to ride on the cars pretty well, and so does Mark. There are always such a heap of things to see out of the window, and such a lot of different kinds of people right on the cars. It was about four hours’ ride to the city, but it didn’t seem half that long, and I was sorry when we got there. It was pretty dark when we walked out of the depot into the street.
“Now what?” says I.