"Huh?" Two-Spot scratched his frowsy head, "mebby not, but that's th' safest place to tote 'em—on th' outside, leastawise. Did you think they was like a—a shirt?" he demanded with great sarcasm.
"Mebby; they covers a lot of ignorance. Yo're not goin' out, are you?" asked Johnny.
"I am," retorted his companion, shuffling toward the door. "You think yo're d—d smart, don't you? You an' yore hullercations? Well, you can go plumb to h—l!" and Two-Spot made haste to get around in front of the saloon, where he refilled the box and carried it inside.
"Cuss it, Dave," he complained, "nobody 'round here treats me like I deserve!"
"An it's d—d lucky for you that they don't," retorted Dave. "You 'tend to them boxes, or I'll make a start at treatin' you like you deserves. What's th' matter with you, anyhow? You've been chucklin' all day like you've lost what little sense you had. You ought to take somethin' for them spasms—they're too frequent to do you any good."
Two-Spot sighed and carried out another box. He dropped it and shook his head. "I don't care a cuss; I'm still bettin' that hole was made by a Sharp's Special. But what gets me is, how could he perforate th' brim while that there pinched-up peak waves defiance, an' courts destruction? You gimme a shot at it, and I'd blow th' hull top off'n it. But I dassn't think about that, now that I've got a gun; it's so fascinatin' I'll be takin' a shot at it some of these days—an' I reckon I'd get more'n a hat. Shucks! that'd be all right; it's only Smitty." He leaned up against the building and laughed until Dave came out to see if he could get in one healthy kick, but Two-Spot avoided him and went back to the box. "Polecat is near Highbank now," he muttered. "I'd give his gun to read his thoughts! He! He! He!"