He scored his stiffs[126] on the heft of his knife—
Forty I’ve heern ’em say;
It might have been more—Bob kept his accounts
In a loosish sorter way.
Bob warn’t a angel ter look at,
And the Bible it warn’t his book;
He swore the most oaths that war swor’d in the camp,
Or blarmedly I am mistook;
But he warn’t a outen-out bad ’un,
And he’d got a heart you could touch;