This seemed to be the general verdict, an’ the Cross brand fellers went off discussin’ the parson, an’ me an’ Spider Kelley collected our ponies an’ went along to the ranch, also discussin’ him.
That was the first time I ever saw Friar Tuck; I made up my mind about him just from hearin’ his voice, an’ before I ever saw him; but I never had to make it up any different. New lead an’ new steel look consid’able alike; but the more ya wear on lead, the sooner it wears out, while the more you wear on steel, the brighter it gets. The Friar was steel, an’ mighty well tempered.
[CHAPTER TWO—THE BETTIN’ BARBER O’ BOGGS]
Yes, this was about the time I got interested in the bettin’ barber over at Boggs. He hasn’t anything to do with this story I’m about to tell ya, except that it was him ’at give the Friar his name; so I’ll just skim through this part as hasty as possible. When a feller is tellin’ me a story, I want him to stick to the trail of it; but it seems like when I try to tell one, myself, some feller is allus askin’ me a question ’at takes me clear out o’ range.
All barbers are more or less different, except in what might be called the gift o’ gab. This one came out to Boggs station, an’ started a shop. His name was Eugene, an’ he was a little man with two rollin’ curls to his front hair, which he wore short behind. A curious thing about little men is, that they don’t never find it out. A little man produces more opinions ’n airy other kind, an’ being small, they haven’t no place to store ’em up until they get time to ripen. A little man gives out his opinion an’ then looks savage—just as if he’d get a switch an’ make ya believe it, whether you wanted to or not.
Eugene had come from every city the’ is in the world, an’ he used to tell scandalous tales about the prominent people who lived in ’em whose hair he had cut. He was also familiar with the other things which had happened since they’ve begun to write history, an’ if any one would doubt one of his statements, he’d whirl about holding up his razor, an’ say: “I’ll bet ya a dollar I can prove it.”
All of us fellers used to go in as often as we got a chance to get our chins shaved an’ our hair shampooed—just to hear Eugene get indignant about things which wasn’t none of our business. We used to bet with him a lot, just for the fun o’ makin’ him prove up things; which he did by writin’ letters to somebody an’ gettin’ back the answers he wanted. We didn’t have any way to prove our side; so Eugene got the money an’ we had the fun.
Ol’ man Dort ran the general store and kept a pet squirrel in a whirlabout cage, which was the biggest squirrel I ever see, an’ had its tail gnawed off by a rat, or something, before Eugene came. Ol’ man Dort had a reputation for arguin’, which spread all over our part of the earth. We had made a habit o’ goin’ to him to get our discussions settled an’ when we began to pass him up for Eugene, he foamed about it free an’ frank.
He wore a prodigious tangle o’ hair and a bunch o’ grizzled whiskers, about as fine an’ smooth as a clump o’ grease-wood. He used to brag that razor nor scissors hadn’t touched his hide for twenty years, an’ one of us boys would allus add, “Nor soap nor water, neither,” an’ ol’ man Dort would grin proud, ’cause it was a point of honor with him.
Eugene used to send out for his wearin’ an’ sech, so ol’ man Dort didn’t get a whack at him in his store; ol’ man Dort batched, an’ Eugene boarded, so they didn’t clash up at their meals; an’ finally ol’ man Dort swore a big oath that he was goin’ to be barbered. The news got out an’ the boys came in for forty miles to see the fun—an’ it was worth it.