“Travelling generally,” I responded; “been looking at the Rhode Island Legislature of late. About health I’m as snug as a kitten, and as hearty as you seem to be.”
“I? Yes; ef I’d a had them sinners” (showing a lump of bones and muscles something larger than mine, I think), “when that ar scrimmidge took place, there’d a been a different report of killed and wounded at the perlice shop. But that ain’t no consekense now, tho’ thar is a ugly sort of a seam on the larboard side of my phizognomy. What’ll you sample?”
Such a polite invitation was not under the circumstances to be refused, and a liquid strengthener was presently applied to the in’nards of both. A couple more of Job’s regalias were lighted, and we walked forward to look at the sights and enjoy a little quiet conversation.
“You hev’nt got that thar took-pick about you, hev you?” asked Ben, as we got afront of the wheelhouse.
“No.”
“I’m sorry for that, for I’d a like to had it for a keepsake, that knife. You punched it into my jowl rather vigorously that night.”
“And this,” said I, rolling up my right sleeve, and pointing to a very pretty stiletto scar.
“ ’Twarn’t mine, by all the broad horns that ever run in Mississip’!” roared Ben. “ ’Twas the French bar-keeper did that.”
“Never mind, Ben,” said I, “I thought ’twas you at the time; but anyhow, a man hasn’t much time to debate nice questions when that pile of ivory” (pointing to his big fist) “is making love to his windpipe.”
“No more he han’t, and no more you hadn’t,” said Ben, “en it’s all forgiv’. Less change the topick.”