"I can't say. I won't go till Mrs. Olmstead is well."
"Not meanin' no harm to Mrs. Olmstead, of course—but you don't have to go, do you?"
"I do as I please."
"So I was thinkin'. Now, 'bout that job: any chance? Any ranches near here?"
"Several. But they want men. Are you a real cowboy?"
Sammy folded his hands and shook his head sorrowfully. "Huh! Want men! Now if I only had whiskers like Blinky. Why, 'course I 'm a cowboy. Regular one—but I can outgrow it easy. I 'm a sorta maverick an' I 'm willin' to wear a nice brand. My name's Sammy Porter," he suggested.
"That's nice. Mine is n't nice."
"Easy to change it. Really like mine?"
"Coffee strong enough?"
"Sumptious. How long's Mrs. Olmstead going to be sick?"