Women are all right—if yuh keep far enough away from them. It’s whenyuh take down your rope and commence to widen your loop for one thattrouble generally begins; or else when yuh get one, she runs on therope and keeps yuh guessing other ways.
The time I was working for old Shooting-star Wilson, I sure got anobject-lesson that I won’t forget in a week or two. We was livinghappy and content, and meaning harm to nobody that winter. It was thewinter after Shooting-star had got his wad—ten thousand dollars—fromthe old country, and had blowed it all in on a house to give aWashington’s Birthday ball in. He sure done himself proud; and spentevery blame cent on the house and dance. So the next day he told Ellisand me to roll our beds and move into the mansion—which same domicilewe called the Hall of Mirth, for various reasons that would uh stoodin court, all right.
It sure was a woozy proposition, for a real house. We got kindaaccustomed to the red, white, and blue diamonds painted on the floors,and to the stars and stripes on the ceilings, and the red and greenand blue chairs; but they sure got on our nerves at first.
Folks used to come miles to see that house, which I will say was worththe trip, all right. But, seeing it was built for a dance, it neverdid get so it fit us, like some shacks do. We’d pull the biggest plushchairs in the house up to the big fireplace in the back parlor, andshut all the sliding-doors, and roll us a cigarette apiece, and stickout our legs as far as nature’d allow, toward the fire. And even thenwe felt like we’d been shut into a razzle-dazzle hall somewheres, andthe crowd had all gone off and left us; they were unmerciful bigrooms.
Ellis and me used to make a sneak down to the old bunk-house once inawhile, and make a fire in the old stove, and snatch a little comfort.But it always hurt Shooting-star’s feelings; and besides, he was suchan economical old cuss—in some ways. He said it ground him to have allthat good money into a house, and then not get any good out of it. Sowe had to stick to the Hall of Mirth, whether we wanted to or not. Buthonest, them rooms was so big they echoed like thunder; and the wallsand floors and ceilings was that gaudy we came near having to put onbrown goggles. Even the books was all red and blue and green bindings.Shooting-star sure liked to have things match.
That winter all the kids in the country got to mixing things withmeasles and whooping-cough, and the like, so there wasn’t any dancesor anything. Everybody stayed at home so they wouldn’t catch nothing,and then wondered where the dickens they’d caught it at. So times wasdull, and there wasn’t nothing doing in the shape of amusement. One ofus would ride into Bent Willow, once in a week or so, and glom all thepapers and magazines we could. We’d just about finished the red andblue and green books—what hadn’t just about finished us, that is.
So one day I rode in and brought out a bundle uh magazines—the kindthat’s thirty cents a year, or only twenty if yuh get up a club uhfour. Yuh know the brand all right, I guess. They have stories told inshifts, and every shift saws off short just when you’re plumb wildwith desire to know how he rescued the beautiful Lady Floribel fromthe up-stairs of the burning manor-house, with the staircase justcommencing to crackle up g