Brat couldn't see why I should have all the fun, so I invited him to another thrashing, and he excused himself.
"Promise," said I, "to be good."
Seeing preparations for war, he gave a sullen promise.
"S'elp you Bob?"
"S'elp me."
"Honor bright?"
"Bet yer sixpence."
"Brat, why not turn cowboy?"
"But is that respectable?"
"Extremely so. Go and be good in the United States, where you'll have lots of room. I don't want to crowd you, Brat."