“When a man ain't got no ideas of his own,” said Scipio, “he'd ought to be kind o' careful who he borrows 'em from.”
“That's mighty correct,” said the Virginian. “Poor Shorty! He has told me about his life. It is sorrowful. And he will never get wise. It was too late for him to get wise when he was born. D' yu' know why he's after higher wages? He sends most all his money East.”
“I don't see what Trampas wants him for,” said Scipio.
“Oh, a handy tool some day.”
“Not very handy,” said Scipio.
“Well, Trampas is aimin' to train him. Yu' see, supposin' yu' were figuring to turn professional thief—yu'd be lookin' around for a nice young trustful accomplice to take all the punishment and let you take the rest.”
“No such thing!” cried Scipio, angrily. “I'm no shirker.” And then, perceiving the Virginian's expression, he broke out laughing. “Well,” he exclaimed, “yu' fooled me that time.”
“Looks that way. But I do mean it about Trampas.”
Presently Scipio rose, and noticed the half-finished exercise upon the Virginian's desk. “Trampas is a rolling stone,” he said.
“A rolling piece of mud,” corrected the Virginian.