“Thanks, Zeb-uleon,” says Muley, “I may do that little thing, Zeb-uleon. How’s Susie, Zeb-uleon?”
“Tolable, Le-mule. She’s pining.”
We watches him ride away, and then Muley spits, reflectively:
“Henry, if that old pelican had called me Le-mule once more I’d have slaughtered him. He must have found that letter I lost.”
“You ought to invest your money in a detective agency, and run it yourself. I suppose you’ll go over to see Susie?”
“Dang well know I will! Why not?”
“Go ahead. Go ahead, Muley, and lose a hundred thousand. What’s a fortune beside her? Your brain ain’t big enough, Muley. When it gets over forty dollars it all looks alike to you. You take my advice and buy sheep.”
“Yah-h-h-h!” he blats. “Where?”
“What will you give me if I buy ’em for you?” I asks.
“You? You got a dead aunt, too, Henry?”