“Here we are,” states Ricky, turnin’ in his saddle and grinnin’ at his followers.
“Thank goodness!” snorts th’ fe-male. “I feel that I’m jolted to a shadow. Shall we dismount?”
“Ricky, yuh might make us used to yore friends, and tell us why you terminates th’ peerade at this point,” sez Magpie.
“This person,” sez Ricky, pointin’ at th’ lean critter, “is Perfessor Phinney. Th’ lady is his wife, and this here robust party is Doctor Doolittle. They’re from th’ East—” and then he turns to them:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this slender party with th’ hairy upper lip is Magpie Simpkins, and th’ bow-legged party beside him is Ike Harper, his mate. Now that yo’re properly introduced I’ll pilgrim back. Au revoir.”
“Yuh will—in uh hearse,” snaps Magpie. “Come back here, yuh blamed coyote and explain why yuh shirks yore duty. What’s th’ great idea?”
“My duty is done,” states Ricky. “These here persons desire to hire competent persons so I brings’ em up here. Every man in Piperock holds up their hands and swears that they ain’t competent, so what could I do? You and Ike shore must be. I reckon th’ perfessor can tell yuh what he wants, Magpie. I hates to deprive yuh of my company, but I’m uh right busy man.”
“No depravity, Ricky,” sez Magpie. “Run right along home.”
And then he turns to th’ outfit. Th’ three of ’em are off their mounts, and busy rubbin’ th’ circulation back into their legs. I feels that th’ perfessor has some chore, ’cause he has quite uh strip uh country to hear from.
“I—er—shall try and explain in a few words,” sez th’ perfessor, peekin’ at us over th’ tops of his specs. “I am up here to settle an argument between myself and Professor Manning. Isn’t it queer what an argument between friends will bring forth?”