Sarved him right, dancin' roun' like a rang-a-tang, and jos'lin' his keys and ten-cent pieces in his pocket, and sayin' imperdent things.

But I could 'a' beat him at talk the bes' day he ever seed ef he'd on'y 'a' gi'n me time to think.

I kin jaw back splendid of you gin me time.

Haw! haw! haw! But he ain't far--don't never gin a feller time to git his thoughts gethered up, you know.

He jumps around like the Frenchman's flea.