Perfesser P. D. Q. Waffles is our poker man an' he shore
can clean out anything I ever saw. Mebbe yu fellers feel reckless-like
an' would like to make a pool," he cried, addressing the outfit of the
Bar-20, "an' back yore boss of th' full house agin ourn?"
Red turned slowly around and took a full minute in which to size the
Kid up. Then he snorted and turned his back again.
The Kid stared at him in outraged dignity. "Well, what say!" he
softly murmured. Then he leaped forward and walloped Red on the back.
"Hey, yore royal highness!" he shouted. "Yu-yu-yu-oh, hang it-yu! Yu
slab-sided, ring-boned, saddle-galled shade of a coyote, do yu think
I'm only meanderin' in th' misty vales of-of-"
Suggestions intruded from various sources. "Hades?" offered
Hopalong. "Cheyenne?" Murmured Johnny. "Misty mistiness of misty?"
tentatively supplied Waffles.
Red turned around again. "Better come up an' have somethin'," he
sympathetically invited, wiping away an imaginary tear.
"An' he's so young!" sobbed Frenchy.
"An' so fair!" wailed Tex.
"An' so ornery!" howled Lefty, throwing his arms around the
discomfited youngster. Other arms went around him, and out of the
sobbing mob could be heard earnest and heart-felt cussing,
interspersed with imperative commands, which were gradually obeyed.
The Kid straightened up his wearing apparel.
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