“Moving-pictures, gents. I am Llewellyn Waldemar.”
“Sounds like a breed of bird-dogs,” says Dirty, “but his ears are too small.”
“You don’t need to insult me,” he snaps.
“Now, wait,” begs Dirty. “Did you ever see a Llewellyn dog?”
“No, I never did.”
“Well, then don’t get insulted. They’re a —— nice-lookin’ animile. You say you’re a movin’-pitcher?”
“No, I take ’em.”
“Hm-m-m-m,” says Dirty. “I never seen any, but I’ve heard tell about ’em. Does them pitchers make yuh think they’re movin’?”
The feller looks at Dirty, like he was a new species of animal, and then wipes his eyes. He wipes his eyes several times and acts like he had a fish-bone in his throat, but he gets all right after while and says: