“Ever’whar. Thar ain’t no settled place whar I hail from.”
“What sort of a job do you want?”
“Ain’t pertic’ler. Anythin’ I kin git.”
“What can you do?”
“Whatever anybody wants me ter do. I ain’t pertic’ler about that, nuther.”
“What ails your eye?”
“Had er argyment with er greaser. The eye’ll be all right in er month, but the greaser’ll be laid up fer a y’ar, anyways. Oh, I’m some persimmons on the wrassle! Ain’t no three greasers kin git the best o’ me when I’m feelin’ right.”
“What have you been doing lately?”
Gringo Pete ran his one uncovered eye thoughtfully over Lige Benner, then lifted it thoughtfully to the blue sky.
“Say,” he answered finally, “you got ter have my pussonal hist’ry? Kase if ye hev, I reckon I’ll look fer a job some’rs else.”