Then we did give Eugene a cheer, an’ everything loosened up, an’ we all crowded into Ike Spargle’s so that them what won could spend a little money on them what lost.
After a time, ol’ man Dort got up on a chair, an’ sez: “I want you fellers to know that Columbus won’t never be my pet. Ben Butler has been the squarest squirrel ever was, an’ he continues to remain my pet; but I’ll study feedin’ this condemned foreign squirrel, an’ give him a fair show; so that if any outsiders come around makin’ brags, we will have a home squirrel to enter again’ ’em an’ get their money.”
Eugene led the cheerin’ this time, which made Eugene solider than ever with the boys, an’ when Spider an’ me got ready to ride home, he an’ ol’ man Dort had their arms around each other tryin’ to sing the Star Spangled Banner.
Spider talked about Columbus most o’ the way home, but I was still. The’ was somethin’ peculiar about the Friar’s grin when he first sighted Columbus, and the’ was somethin’ familiar about that squirrel, an’ I was tryin’ to adjust myself. Just as we swung to the west on the last turn, I sez to Spider: “Spider, I don’t know what I ought to do about this?”
“About what?” sez Spider.
“About this bet?”
“Well, it was a fair bet, wasn’t it? Columbus is full four times as big as Ben Butler.”
“Yes,” sez I, “but he ain’t no squirrel.”
Spider pulled up to a stop. “Ain’t no squirrel?” he sez. “What do you take me for, didn’t I see him myself? What is he then?”
“He’s a woodchuck, that’s what he is,” sez I. “He’s a genuwine ground hog with his hair cut stylish and died accordin’ to Eugene’s idy of high art. I remember now that I used to see ’em when I was a little shaver back on my dad’s farm in Indiana.”