Hardly did I dare show myself in the business centres,
for as surely as I did the animal found me and crawled to fawn upon
me, affecting his release each day in some novel manner. Each morning
I looked abroad from my window on arising, more than likely detecting
his outstretched form on the walk below, patiently awaiting my
appearance, and each night I was liable to dreams of his coming upon
me, a monstrous creature, sad-faced but eager, tireless, resolute,
determined to have me for his own.
Musing desperately over this impossible state of affairs, I was now
surprised to receive a letter from the wretched Cousin Egbert, sent by
the hand of the Tuttle person. It was written in pencil on ruled
sheets apparently torn from a cheap notebook, quite as if proper pens
and decent stationery were not to be had, and ran as follows:
DEAR FRIEND BILL:
Well, Bill, I know God hates a quitter, but I guess I got
a streak of yellow in me wider than the Comstock lode. I was
kicking at my stirrups even before I seen that bunch of whiskers,
and when I took a flash of them and seen he was intending I
should go out before folks without any regular pants on, I says
I can be pushed just so far. Well, Bill, I beat it like a bat
out of hell, as I guess you know by this time, and I would like
to seen them catch me as I had a good bronc.
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