"All I got in my string is some two-year-olds of Judge Dillon's. They go back to the farm when the meetin' closes, so I ain't worried none—not about where to ship.
"One night me 'n' Peewee Simpson is playin' pitch on a bale of hay with a lantern. Butsy Trimble is settin' beside the bale readin' a hoss paper.
"'Gimme high, jack, game—' says Peewee, after a hand.
"'I'll give you a poke in the nose!' I says. 'What you got fur game?'
"'I s'pose you want to count fur game—don't you?' says Peewee. 'I'll give it to you sooner'n argue with you.'
"'You're right, you'll give it to me,' I says.
"'Well, I said I'd give it to you, didn't I?' says Peewee. 'You'd rather argue'n eat, wouldn't you?'
"'All that's wrong with you,' I says, 'is you're sore 'cause you can't hog game!'
"Peewee lays down his cards.
"'Now, look a here, you freckle-faced shrimp!' he says. 'Get off this bale of hay—it'll poison a hoss if you set on it much longer!'