"Great guns!" I says. "Ain't it nice out here?"
"That's exactly what I've been thinking," says he.
We went along still for a little ways. It come to me that maybe, if I could only say some of the things that moved around on the outside of my head, he might like them. But I couldn't get them together enough.
"It makes you want to think nice thoughts," I says, by and by.
"Doesn't it?" he says, with his quick, straight look. "And when it does, then you do."
"I don't know enough," I says. "I wisht I did."
I'll never, never forget when we come to the top of the little hill. He stood there with nothing but the sky, blue as fury, behind him.
"Now look," he says. "There's New York, over there."
"You can't see New York from here!" I says. "Not with no specs that was ever invented."