His ramshackle Ford roadster was considered an evidence of the terribly reckless extravagance of his habits, but it was really nothing more than a sort of pocketbook, since all his money went into it, and a very shabby one at that. He had a cheap wit and swaggeringly condescending air which he practiced on the simple inhabitants of Everdoze, and in his banter he was not always kind. Yet notwithstanding that he was tawdry both in dress and speech the villagers did not venture much into the conversational arena with him because they knew that they were not his equals in banter and retort.
“Hello, little orphan Annie,” he said. “Bungel was telling me the wagon is coming for you pretty soon. Over the hill to the poorhouse. Ever hear that song? What’s that you’ve got there, a soldier? Watcher doing with him? Lucky kid, I’d like to be a soldier.”
“What were you, a slacker?” Pee-wee shouted.
This was not the kind of retort that Deadwood Gamely was accustomed to hearing and he gave a quick look at the small stranger in khaki who sat behind the counter like a judge on the bench staring straight at him.
“Don’t get him riled,” Pepsy whispered. “He likes to get me riled so’s just to make me feel silly; it’s—it’s Deadwood Gamely. He’s always togged out swell like that,” she added fearfully.
“The only thing that’s swell about him is his head,” said Pee-wee in his loudest voice. “Don’t you be scared of him, I’m here.”
“What’s that?” said the young man in a tone intended to be darkly menacing.
“You’d better put your hat on the top of your head or it’ll blow off,” said Pee-wee. “I said that I’m here. Let’s hear you deny it. If I was a crow I might be afraid of you.”
Slightly taken aback by his ready retorts, the young man could only say, “If you were a crow, hey?” He stepped a little closer to the counter but the ominous advance did not alarm Pee-wee in the least. He sat behind his card-strewn counter holding the stencil brush like a sort of weapon ready to besmear that face of sneering assurance if its owner ventured too near.
“So I’m a scarecrow, eh?” Mr. Gamely said with a side glance at Pepsy. He was not going to have her witness his discomfiture at the hands of this glib little stranger. Moreover, a slur at his personal splendor was a very grave matter and not to be overlooked.