"Mrs. Toledo, she kind of sniffed superior, but said nothin'. You know that kind of sayin' nothin' which is waitin' for you to move on.
"'Won't you come up to the shack and have grub?' says Toledo, hopin' I'd say 'No.'
"'Nope,' says I. 'Obliged jest the same. I see you got hep to the ant all right.'
"'I'll let you know I'm nobody's aunt!' says Mrs. Toledo, yankin' the yearlin' off his hoofs and settin' him down again. For a fact, she thunk I was alludin' to her.
"'Of course not, madam,' says I, polite, and liftin' me lid. 'And I judge somebody's in luck at that.'
"I guess it was her not used to bein' spoke and acted polite to that got her goat. Mebby she smelt somethin' sarcastic. I dunno. Anyhow, she was a longhorn with a bad eye. 'Go on, you chicken-lifter!' she says.
"Bein' no hand to sass a lady, I said nothin' more to her. But I hands Toledo a jolt for bein' ashamed of his old pal.
"'Well, so long,' says I, kind of offhand and easy. 'So long. I'll tell Lucy when I see her that you was run over by a freight and killed. Then she can take out them papers and marry Mike Brannigan that's been waitin' in the hopes you'd pass over. You remember Mike, the cop on Cherry Street. You oughta. He's pinched you often enough. 'Course you do. Well, so long. Little Johnny was lookin' fine the last I seen of him. He's gettin' more like his pa every day. But I got to beat it.'"
Overland Red leaned back and puffed a great cloud of smoke from a fresh cigarette.
"Who was Lucy?" asked Winthrop.