"What's that, then?" the man said leering on the ground. "Snakes! That's what I always see when I've got them."
"So long as you don't see yourself, there's some chance for you!" Hamar retorted. "What makes you so hot?"
"Why, digging!" the man laughed; "any one would get hot digging at such hard ground as this. As for a little whippersnapper like you, you'd melt right away and only your nose would remain. Nothing would ever melt that—there's too much of it."
Hamar scowled. "You needn't be insulting," he said, "I asked you a civil question, and I repeat it. What makes you so hot—when you should be cold—or at least cool?"
"Oh, should I!" the man mimicked, "I thought first you was merely drunk; I can see quite clearly now that you're mad."
"And yet you have such defective sight."
"What makes you say that?" the man said testily.
"Why," Hamar responded, "because you can't see what lies beneath your very nose. Shall I tell you what it is?"
"Yes, tell away," the man replied, "tell me my old mother's got twins, and that Boss Croker is coming to lodge with us. I'd know you for a liar anywhere by those teeth of yours."
"Look here," said Hamar drawing himself up angrily, "I have had enough of your abuse. If I have any more I'll tell your employers. It is evident you take me for a bummer, but see,"—and plunging his hand in his pocket he pulled it out full of gold. "Kindly understand I'm somebody," he went on, "and that I'm staying at one of the biggest hotels in the town."