When I sees that it wouldn't take much more to get them big blue eyes of his to leakin', I puts him easy on the dog question. "But what's your idea of sellin' the bubble?" says I.
"Why," says he, "I won't need it any longer. I'm going to be a motorman on a trolley car."
"That's a real swell job," says I. "But how will the folks at home take it?"
"The folks at home?" says he, lookin' me straight in the eye. "Why, there aren't any. I haven't any home, you know."
Honest, the way he passed out that whopper was worth watchin'. It was done as cool and scientific as a real estate man takin' oath there wa'n't a mosquito in the whole county.
"Then you're just travelin' around loose, eh?" says I. "Where'd you strike from to-day?"
"Chicago," says he.
"Do tell!" says I. "That's quite a day's run. You must have left before breakfast."
"I had breakfast early," says he.
"Dinner in Buffalo?" says I.