When you just glance at it, a chicken ain't a creature that's apt to have a adventurous life; but long before we reached Oakland, folks was gettin' on the train every place we stopped, just to have a look at chickens what had been taught to tell counterfeit money. It was easy enough when I got started. Every one knows that a chicken's eye is mighty detectin'. They stroll along pickin' up bugs 'at you or I can't see with a magnascope, an' all 'at would be necessary to make 'em experts at money, would be to get 'em interested.
The' 's allus somebody in a crowd who don't swaller bait as easy as the rest, an' bye an' bye a feller holds up a silver dollar to the rooster. The rooster was a pretty beast, all red an' blue, an' a good feeler; but he didn't care a hang for money. He turned his head away, an' I sez, "The dollar's good."
But the feller had to keep on makin' tests, which didn't interest the rooster any until finally the rooster begun to get some exasperated. The feller held out a five-dollar bill to the rooster, an' he was tired o' such nonsense an' took a sudden peck at it an' tore it in two. "It's bad," sez I.
"I knew it was bad," sez he. "I said when I took it that I bet it wasn't any good; but one o' these smooth Easterners give it to me. If I'd had a bird like that I wouldn't 'a' got stuck. What'll you take for him?"
I smiled and sez, "I don't reckon you'd believe what these birds is worth, but I wouldn't want to sell 'em even if I got my price. I wish you'd give me that counterfeit bill though. The hen ain't fully taught an' bills like that are scarce."
He give me the bill, an' offered me all kinds o' prices for the poultry; but I wanted to take 'em to Barbie, an' I finally stuck 'em under the seat an' refused to let any one see 'em. That blame fool offered me seventy-five dollars for that pair o' chickens when he got off the train at Oakland, an' I was blame glad I had give up business, 'cause it was sure good business to take a price like that. The five-dollar bill was all right an' I spent part of it at the restaurants along the way.
When I got off the train at Webb Station, who did I see but Spider Kelley an' the home freight-wagon. Well, we was both glad to see each other, an' he stayed sober just so we could chat together on the home ride.
"How did you like business?" sez he. "Oh, it pays—in a money way," sez I, "but it's too monotonous. I don't like it."
"You ain't been gone long enough to make much money," sez he.
"Oh, no, not what you would call money in business," sez I, "but I've handled several pieces o' coin since I been away, an' I'll have nine hundred for ol' Cast Steel to put out on pasture for me."