“Then we might as well roll our little ball of yarn out of here, eh?”
Hashknife squinted thoughtfully at the little oil lamp in their room, as he painfully bent his knee in removing a boot.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I ain’t exactly cured, Sleepy, but I’m recoverin’. That hot water sure is great medicine.”
“Between that and a pretty girl to bring yuh hot whiskey.”
Hashknife grinned widely.
“Y’betcha. I’d hate to be cured too quick. I noticed her smilin’ at you, Sleepy.”
“Yuh did not,” indignantly.
I did too. I asked her if she liked you and she says, “Kiwa teahwit.”
“What does that mean?”
“I dunno,” said Hashknife innocently. “There’s a lot of that language I don’t sabe myself. Anyway she smiled at yuh, so it must be all right.”