“Yuh can’t prove nothin’ by uh rattler,” objects Magpie. “Also, yuh got uh sweet chore on yore hands when yuh tries to git uh female grizzly to let yuh take its cub and——”
“Can’t I believe my own eyes?” wails th’ ol’ pelican. “Can’t I see these things?”
“My husband, being a scientist, is very observing,” states Mrs. Perfessor.
“Also set in his ways,” states th’ doc, lightin’ one uh them dude cigarets, which smells like th’ place where uh circus has jist moved away. “All I hope is that I get some good shooting.”
“If th’ perfessor interviews uh fe-male grizzly and fambly, yuh shore stand uh good chance uh gittin’ yore wish,” sez I. “Unpack them long-sufferin’ jackasses and make yoreself to home. Th’ hills is yours.”
“Unpack?” asks th’ perfessor. “Do you mean to remove the impedimenta from the backs of our beasts of burden?”
“Bein’ funny is a art,” states Magpie, “but art ain’t appreciated here in th’ hills. Jist take th’ plunder off them canaries, and settle down.”
“But, my man, that’s your duty. That’s part of what I’m paying you for.”
Magpie looks foolish like at me and then back at th’ perfessor. Th’ doc lifts his eyebrows to th’ eaves of his face and manages to wiggle one eyelid until uh person would almost admit it was uh wink.
“Perfessor,” sez Magpie, “I ain’t yore man. I never seen yuh before, and I ain’t worryin’ about yuh in th’ future. I never hired out to yuh, and I ain’t acquainted with yore rollin’ stock to th’ extent that I wishes to remove their loads. Who wished yuh on to us anyway and why?”