"'S my move!" says Wes, 'thout seemin' to notice the feller's tantalizin' words whatsomever.
"'L! this time," thinks I, "Mr. Smarty from the metrolopin deestricts, you're liable to git waxed—shore!" But the feller didn't 'pear to think so at all, and played right ahead as glib-like and keerless as ever—'casion'ly a-throwin' in them sircastic remarks o' his'n,—'bout bein' "slow and shore" 'bout things in gineral—"Liked to see that," he said:—"Liked to see fellers do things with plenty o' deliberation, and even ef a feller wuzn't much of a checker-player, liked to see him die slow anyhow!—and then 'tend his own funeral," he says,—"and march in the p'session—to his own music," says he.—And jest then his remarks wuz brung to a close by Wes a-jumpin' two men, and a-lightin' square in the king-row.... "Crown that," says Wes, a-droppin' back into his old tune. And fer the rest o' that game Wes helt the feller purty level, but had to finally knock under—but by jest the clos'test kind o' shave o' winnin'.
"They ain't much use," says the feller, "o' keepin' this thing up—'less I could manage, some way er other, to git beat onc't 'n a while!"
"Move," says Wes, a-drappin' back into the same old whistle and a-settlin' there.
"'Music has charms,' as the Good Book tells us," says the feller, kindo' nervous-like, and a-roachin' his hair back as ef some sort o' p'tracted headache wuz a-settin' in.
"Never wuz 'skunked,' wuz ye?" says Wes, kindo' suddent-like, with a fur-off look in them big white eyes o' his—and then a-whistlin' right on 'sef he hadn't said nothin'.
"Not much!" says the feller, sorto' s'prised-like, as ef such a' idy as that had never struck him afore.—"Never was 'skunked' myse'f: but I've saw fellers in my time 'at wuz!" says he.
But from that time on I noticed the feller 'peared to play more keerful, and railly la'nched into the game with somepin' like inter'st. Wes he seemed to be jest a-limber-in'-up-like; and-sir, blame me! ef he didn't walk the feller's log fer him that time, 'thout no 'pearent trouble at all!
"And, now," says Wes, all quiet-like, a-squarin' the board fer another'n,—"we're kindo' gittin' at things right. Move." And away went that little unconcerned whistle o' his ag'in, and Mr. Cityman jest gittin' white and sweaty too—he wuz so nervous. Ner he didn't 'pear to find much to laugh at in the next game—ner the next two games nuther! Things wuz a-gettin' mighty interestin' 'bout them times, and I guess the feller wuz ser'ous-like a-wakin' up to the solem' fact 'at it tuk 'bout all his spare time to keep up his end o' the row, and even that state o' pore satisfaction wuz a-creepin' furder and furder away from him ever' new turn he undertook. Whilse Wes jest peared to git more deliber't' and certain ever' game; and that unendin' se'f-satisfied and comfortin' little whistle o' his never drapped a stitch, but toed out ever' game alike,—to'rds the last, and, fer the most part, disasterss to the feller 'at had started in with sich confidence and actchul promise, don't you know.
Well-sir, the feller stuck the whole forenoon out, and then the afternoon; and then knuckled down to it 'way into the night—yes, and plum midnight!—And he buckled into the thing bright and airly next morning! And-sir, fer two long days and nights, a-hardly a-stoppin' long enough to eat, the feller stuck it out,—and Wes a-jest a-warpin' it to him hand-over-fist, and leavin' him furder behind, ever' game!—till finally, to'rds the last, the feller got so blamedon worked up and excited-like, he jes' 'peared actchully purt' nigh plum crazy and histurical as a woman!