“'Billy,' I says, 'I've about re'ch the conclusion that I wasn't cut out to be a passenger-pigeon, neither.'
“He waits a minute, me holdin' back fur him to speak and wonderin' whut his next subject is goin' to be. Bill Priest always was a master one to ramble in his conversations. After a while he speaks, very pensive:
“'Jimmy,' he says, 'ef a man was to git up on a hoss, say to-morrow momin' and ride along right stiddy he'd jest about git home by hog-killin' time, wouldn't he?'
“'Jest about,' I says, 'ef nothin' serious happened to delay him on the way.'
“'That's right,' he says, 'the spare ribs and the chitterlin's would jest about be ripe when he arrove back.'
“I didn't make no answer to that—my mouth was waterin' so I couldn't speak. Besides there didn't seem to be nothin' to say.
“'The fall revivals ought to be startin' up about then, too,' he says, 'old folks gittin' religion all over ag'in and the mourners' bench overflowin', and off in the back pews and in the dark comers young folks flirtin' with one another and holdin' hands under cover of the hymn-books. But all the girls we left behind us have probably got new beaux by now, don't you reckin?'
“'Yes, Billy,' I says, 'I reckin they have and I don't know ez I could blame 'em much neither, whut with us streakin' 'way off down here like a passel of idiots.'
“He gits up and throws away his stick.
“'Well, Jimmy,' he says, 'I'm powerful glad to find out we agree on so many topics. Well, good night,' he says.