I can't stand being alone.

I get most awfully blue and funky, naturally nervous and timid, you know." "You do, eh ?" said French, pleasantly.

"Well, if you ask me, I believe you're lying, or your face is." "Not a bit, not a bit.

Good thing a fellow has a skin to draw over his insides.

I'd hate the world to see all the funk that there is in my heart." French pulled out his pipe, stirred up its contents with his knife, struck a match, and proceeded to draw what comfort he could from the remnants of his last smoke.