“So?” says I. “Now I’ve been exposed a lot and haven’t caught it very hard.”
“Gifted of the gods!” says he.
“Eh?” says I.
“I’m Marmaduke, you know,” says he.
“I’ve heard that much,” says I.
“To him that hath ears—mufflers,” says he.
“Mufflers?” says I. “I guess I must be missin’ some of my cues, Mister.”
“Never care,” says he. “Why cry over spilt milk when one can keep a cat?”
“Look here!” says I. “Are you stringin’ me, or am I stringin’ you?”
“Of what use to fret the oracle?” says he. “They say silence is golden—well, I’ve spent mine.”