"None of that—" he grinned, "I want you to go in with me."
I gazed at him in speechless astonishment.
"Have I said a bellyful?" he demanded, removing his vile cigar.
"A—yes," I gasped, "and more."
"Ha! That's the way I am," he laughed. "Ideas come to me and I act upon them."
"But—what have I done—" I began, stammering, "to deserve this—"
"You're the man for my money," he erupted boisterously, "I sometimes make a mistake in picking a horse, but never in picking a man, Ranny, my boy, never!"
When Henry the Fowler was tranquilly snaring finches and news was suddenly brought him that he had been elected Emperor, I doubt whether he had felt more completely graveled than did I at that moment. But to be serious with Fred Salmon was just then beyond me.
"You have come to the right man, this time, Fred," I gave him back a parody of his own tone, "not a doubt of it!"
"You bet I have, old Hoss," he cried, "don't I know it?"