“What’s up?” he asked.
“You haven’t seen me before, have you?” I asked.
“Don’t know ye from a hole in the ground!”
“Well, I’m the missionary, and as there’s a vital connection between soap and salvation, I’m making a beginning on the floor. When I finish this, I’ll try my hand on you.”
He laughed a hoarse, guttural laugh, and said:
“Don’t git bug-house, boss; ye’d wind up jest whar ye’ve begun!”
ST. FRANCIS OF THE BUNK-HOUSE
He had several names; his real name was Brady. In the bunk-house they called him “Gar.” He was bull-necked, bullet-headed, tall, round-shouldered, stooped. The story of a hard life was in his face. He had been in the army, but they couldn’t drill him. They couldn’t even get rid of his stoop. He must have looked like a gorilla with a gun. In the Bismarck, he became the terror of the lesser breeds—the king by right of conquest.