In fifteen I was wedded solid to the notion that the bottom had dropped out of the chicken business.

I think now that if we'd shut them hens up, we might have--still, I don't know; they was a good deal in what Tusky said.
"Tuscarora Maxillary," says I, "did you ever stop to entertain that beautiful thought that if all the dumfoolishness possessed now by the human race could be gathered together, and lined up alongside of us, the first feller to come along would say to it 'Why, hello, Solomon!'" We quit the notion of chickens for profit right then and there, but we couldn't quit the place.

We hadn't much money, for one thing, and then we, kind of liked loafin' around and raisin' a little garden truck, and--oh, well, I might as well say so, we had a notion about placers in the dry wash back of the house you know how it is.

So we stayed on, and kept a-raisin' these long-laigs for the fun of it.

I used to like to watch 'em projectin' around, and I fed 'em twict a day about as usual.
So Tusky and I lived alone there together, happy as ducks in Arizona.
About onc't in a month somebody'd pike along the road.