“That’s right. What is a ablution, Ike?”
“How do I know,” I snorts. “I ain’t no ladies’ maid, Magpie. If yuh wanted to know about rattlesnakes I’d be up on that.”
I gives her th’ can uh hot water and she operates in th’ cabin, so we don’t know yet what she done. I jist gits breakfast on th’ fire when th’ doc shows up. He does uh double shuffle in th’ trail when he gits in sight and seems tickled all over about somethin’.
“You haven’t got breakfast ready yet have you?” he whoops, as he leans his shotgun ag’in th’ cabin. “Heaven is my home! At last I have hit something.”
He digs down in th’ pockets of his huntin’ coat, and dumps uh pile uh birds on th’ ground.
“Blue grouse,” he pronounces. “I found a fine flock of them up th’ gulch. Can we have them for breakfast, Mister Harper?”
“How perfectly lovely,” gurgles Mrs. Perfessor. “I adore wild game. This will be a breakfast to remember. It must be wonderful to live in a country like this where you can go out and kill your meals.”
“Yeaus,” agrees th’ perfessor. “I’ll have mine grilled, if you don’t mind.”
I looks at Magpie, who is rollin’ uh cigaret and lookin’ at th’ ground, and sez to him—
“How would you like yore’s, Mister Simpkins?”