One of ol’ man Dort’s manias was, that a man ought to pay his debts, whether it killed him or not; so as soon as Eugene had him steamin’ under the towels we begun to talk about a man’s first duty bein’ toward his kin, an’ that if he couldn’t pay his debts without bother, he ought to let the debts go an’ show his relatives a good time while they was still on earth an’ able to enjoy themselves.
Ol’ man Dort couldn’t stand it, an’ tried to answer back from under the towels; but got his mouth full o’ suds, an’ choked on the corner of a towel until Eugene said that if he couldn’t sit still an’ behave himself he could go out to some alfalfa farmer to get his tonsoral work completed.
It wasn’t the ol’ man’s fault—he simply couldn’t help it. Touch him up on a ticklish subject, an’ he just had to come back at ya, same as a rattler. Finally, however, Eugene had the stubble wore down an’ softened until he decided that he stood a chance again’ it, an’ then he lathered an’ rubbed, an’ lathered an’ rubbed, until nothin’ stuck out below ol’ man Dort’s eyes except the peak of his nose; an’ then us boys pulled out our trump card an’ played it strong. We began to talk about red squirrels.
Now, we didn’t know anything professional about squirrels, except what ol’ man Dort had told us; but we slewed his talk around this way an’ that as if it was our own private opinions; an’ the ol’ man began to groan audible. He gritted his teeth, though, an’ bore up under it like a hero, until Eugene begin to chip in with what he knew about squirrels.
Eugene was never content to just speak of a thing in a general way—his main method of convincin’ us was to allus fall back on his own personal experience; so this time he began to tell of squirrels what he had been full acquainted with. He called ’em by name an’ told how they would run to meet him an’ climb up on his shoulders an’ chatter for nuts, an’ so on; until the ol’ man’s ears turned red with the strain he was under. And then, we got to discussin’ the size o’ squirrels.
We told about squirrels we had heard about, an’ contested again’ each other to see which had heard o’ the biggest one; but we never even mentioned ol’ man Dort’s squirrel. Eugene had shaved his way down to below the lobe of ol’ man Dort’s right ear, slippin’ in a side remark to our talk every minute or so; an’ purty soon he sez ’at he knows a squirrel by the name o’ Daniel Webster back in Montpelier, Vermont, which was a full half inch longer ’n airy red squirrel we had spoke of. The ol’ man couldn’t stand this. His head bobbed up, cuttin’ a gash on the crook of his jaw, and as soon as he could blow the foam out of his mouth, he sez, “I’ll stake my life, the’ ain’t another squirrel in this country as big as my own Ben Butler.”
Eugene put his hand on ol’ man Dort’s forehead an’ pushed him back into the headrest. “You lie there,” sez he, “until I get done shavin’ ya. Then, I’ll bet ya a dollar that I can produce a livin’ squirrel which’ll out-stand, outweigh, an’ out-fight your squirrel—an’ I ain’t never seen your squirrel.”
“A dollar!” snorts the ol’ man, flickin’ up his head. “I wouldn’t bother wakin’ Ben Butler up for a measly dollar. I’ll bet ya ten dollars.”
“Get back on that headrest,” orders Eugene. “Ten dollars looks a heap sight better to me than one, an’ I’ll be mighty glad to accommodate ya.”
Eugene took his fire-stick an’ burned the ol’ man’s cut, an’ the ol’ man had to scruge up his shoulders with the pain of it; but he did it without noticin’, ’cause his mind was on squirrels. “What breed o’ squirrels is yours?” he asked.