“Blind man’s buff,” replied the stranger.
“What’s that?” inquired Tom, blushing with shame at being compelled to display ignorance about games; “anything like going it blind at poker?”
“Poker?—I don’t know what that is,” replied the youth.
“He’s from the country,” said the colonel, compassionately, “an’ hesn’t hed the right schoolin’. P’r’aps,” continued the colonel, “he’d enjoy the cockfight at the saloon to-night—these country boys are pretty well up on roosters. Ask him, Tom.”
Tom put the question, and the party, in deep disgust, heard the man reply:
“No, thank you; I think it’s cruel to make the poor birds hurt each other.”
“Look here,” said the good-natured Bozen, “the poor lubber’s all gone in amidships—see how flat his breadbasket is. I say, messmate,” continued Bozen, with a roar, and a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, “come and splice the main-brace.”
“No, thank you,” answered the unreasonable stranger; “I don’t drink.”
The boys looked incredulously at each other, while the colonel arose and paced the front of the saloon two or three times, looking greatly puzzled. He finally stopped and said:
“The mizzable rat isn’t fit to be out uv doors, an’ needs takin’ keer ov. Come here, feller,” called the colonel; “be kinder sociable—don’t stand there a gawpin’ at us ez ef we wuz a menagerie.”