Skinny carried the shirt, wrapped in the soggy, rain-soaked newspaper. As he and the Ramblin' Kid came near the dingy, general merchandise establishment kept by the squint-eyed Jew from whom Parker had bought the unfortunate garment a sudden look of cunning gleamed in the eyes of Skinny. He laughed aloud. A box of eggs, ten or twelve dozen it contained, was set, with other farm produce, in a display on the sidewalk at the side of the door of the store.
"Hold on a minute," Skinny said to the Ramblin' Kid, stopping in front of the Jew's place of business, "I got an idea—By golly," he continued argumentatively and with apparent irrelevancy, in a loud voice, "I tell you I'm the lightest man on my feet in Texas!" and he winked knowingly at the Ramblin' Kid. "I can walk on eggs and never bu'st a one! I've done it and"—as Leon came to the door—"I'll bet four-bits I can jump in that box of eggs right there and never crack a shell!" The Ramblin' Kid understood.
"Aw, you're crazy," he laughed. "I don't want to win your money!"
"What's the matter?" Leon asked curiously, having heard only part of
Skinny's boast.
"This locoed darn' fool thinks he can walk on them eggs an' not mash 'em!" the Ramblin' Kid laughed again. "He wants to bet me four-bits he can—"
"Walk on them eggs and not preak them?" Leon exclaimed disdainfully.
"You ought to lock him up! He iss crazy!"
"By gosh," Skinny argued, "you don't realize how light-footed I am—I can jump on them, I tell you, and I got money to back it up!" And he pulled a half-dollar from his pocket.
"Put away your money, you blamed idiot—" the Ramblin' Kid began.
"I'll bet him four-bits he can't!" Leon cried, jerking a coin from his own pocket.
Skinny and Leon each handed the Ramblin' Kid fifty cents.