After a bit he looks at me purty sympathetic like, an' sez, "You seem to have a weak stomach."
"Weak?" I yells. "Weak! why you doggone son of a pirate, it kicks like a shotgun every time it goes off. Weak!"
We stayed out on our pleasure trip the best part of the day, me layin' with what used to be my head jammed under the front seat, while my liver chased my stomach up an' down my backbone, tryin' to squeeze out a few more crumbs o' that breakfast. You can believe me or not; but when noon came that double dyed villain got out the grub an' began to eat—even goin' so far as to ask me to join him. A hog wouldn't 'a' done it. We came back; about five o'clock, an' by the time we reached the landin' place I was feelin' fine. An' hungry— Say!
When we got upon the platform an' started to walk up-town Fatty sez to me, "What are you goin' to do to kill time now?"
"Time?" sez I. "Well, now, I dunno as I feel any inborn hankerin' to slaughter time; but if the game laws ain't in force I wouldn't mind flushin' up a covey of fat young ham sandwidges."
"You're a funny cuss," sez he.
"I am," sez I; "an' I hope I won't come sudden in front of a lookin'-glass. A good hearty laugh just now would be purty apt to puncture my stomach—it's jammed up so tight again my backbone."
"You don't seem to like this community," sez he.
"I don't know," sez I. "It's been a mighty long time since I tasted it; but I have an idy that I'd enjoy some served hot with a couple o' porterhouse steaks smothered in cornbeef hash an' about three pints o' coffee."
He chuckled up another laugh, an sez, "If you had a good job here would you be apt to settle?"