I don’t have nothing to say, and that seems to make ’em more joyful. I don’t keep silent from choice, but that feller darn near unjointed my jaw and she hurts like thunder when I opens my face.
“Muley still wearing crape?” asks Chuck, as we ride out of town, and all three of ’em busts out laughing.
“Danged mean trick,” opines the old man. “You remember Jimmy Frederick, don’t you, Hen? He was out here a few years ago. He knows Muley well. We were up in his office and Telescope and Chuck got him to write that letter.”
“How many sheep has Muley bought on his nerve?” asks Chuck.
“Come on through, Hen. Did he buy out Zeb’s herd? I hope he ain’t got mutton for our supper.” And then Telescope sings sort of plaintive like;
“I love a little chicken and I love a little fish.
When somebody says ‘ham and eggs,’ I pass along my dish,
When I get good and hungry I could eat a roarin’ bull,
But when they passes mutton meat my stummick’s full.”
And then Chuck joins in the chorus: