“That ain’t right, Sparks.” And I turned in and give him that bliggers talk.
But he hung off till I tole him about the scheme of the railroad bunch. Seems that Sparks had a grudge agin the eatin’-house ’cause it wouldn’t give him train-men’s rates fer grub. So he fell right into line.
Macie Sewell didn’t come to the show that night, so I didn’t stay long. Over to the bunk-house, I got a piece of paper and some ink and (ain’t ashamed of it, neither,) writ down her name. Under it, I put mine. Then, after crossin’ out all the letters that was alike, and countin’ “Friendship, love, indiff’rence, hate, courtship, marriage,” it looked like this:
By jingo, I reckon it stood just about that way!
Next mornin’, whilst I was standin’ outside the post-office, she come ridin’ up! Say, all to oncet my heart got to goin’ somethin’ turrible–I was feard she’d hear it, no josh. My hands felt weak, too, so’s I could hardly pull off my Stetson; and my ears got red; and my tongue thick, like the time I got offen the trail in Arizonaw and din’t have no water fer two ’r three days.
She seen me, and smiled, sorta bashful.
“Miss Sewell,” I says, “can I ast fer you’ mail? Then you won’t have to git down.”
“Yas, thank y’.”
When I give it to her, I got my sand back a little. “I hope,” I says, “that you didn’t mind my puttin’ you’ name up in that votin’ contest. Did y’?”