“I beg your pardon,” says he.
“You have it,” says Magpie.
“You won’t catch that bronc this side of Piperock,” says I. “He’s still throwing sand.”
“Ah! Oh, the—er—equine? Ah! Unavoidable, I assure you.”
“Setting as you were,” admits Magpie. “Good scheme to always watch a bronc’s ears, old-timer.”
“Pleasant pastime, I have no doubt,” he agrees. “Oh, quite interesting. May I ask if either of you gentlemen is Mr. Simpson?”
“Little high and to the right,” says Magpie. “I’m Simpkins.”
“Ah, yes! Delighted, I assure you. My mistake.”
He peers at the letter.
“Very good indeed. Simpkins it is. I beg your pardon.”