I can pay for my grub if you'll sell it to me. You can't leave me starve!
DAVE HARNEY
(Tearing the last chunk oj ice from mustache and sending it rattling to the floor. He speaks with a drawl.)
Aw, you tenderfeet make me tired. I never seen the beat of you critters. Better men than you have starved in this country, an' they didn't make no bones about it neither—they was all bones I calkilate. What do you think this is? A Sunday picnic? Jes' come in, eh? An' you're clean scairt. Look at me—old-timer, sir, a sour-dough, an' proud of it! I come into this country before there was any blamed Company, fished for my breakfast, an' hunted my supper. An' when the fish didn't bite an' they wa'n't any game, jes' cinched my belt tighter an' hiked along, livin' on salmon-bellies and rabbit tracks an' eatin' my moccasins.
(Jubilantly.)
Oh, I tell you this is the country that'll take the saleratus out of you!
(Miner, awed by being face to face with an old-timer, withers up during harangue, and at finish shrinks behind other miners, and from there makes exit to right.)
(Drawing paper from pocket and presenting it.)
Now lookee here, Mister Clerk, what'd you call that?