“Me and Ike are neutral,” says Magpie.
“If you’d tell us just about what in —— you’re hunting for, maybe we’d advise you.”
“Oh, thank you. You see I wish to observe the effects of astragala——”
“You’re welcome!” yelps Magpie. “Go ahead, and may you die in your boots.”
“I fear that is impossible,” says Ajax. “The boots belong to you.”
“Happy birthday!” yelps Magpie. “They’re yours, Ajax. Go to it.”
“I will do my best, sir,” says he, and we watches him going over the hills, dragging his rope behind him.
“Just plain crazy, Ike,” declares Magpie. “Plain crazy.”
“Not Ajax,” says I. “Nossir! That feller is plumb fancy crazy. He’s gilt-edged, perfumed and embroidered, Magpie. He knows a million dollars’ worth of things that won’t never do him any good—things that other fellers like him have found out; and now he’s out here to find out something to pass on to them. It won’t never do him nor anybody else any good—but they’ll be glad.”