Every morning he works off selections from Beethoven and Mozart and those people, and on Sundays he frequently lets himself out on hymn-tunes.

I've known him to set on that fence for more'n an hour at a time practicing the scales, and he nearly kicked another rooster to death one day because that rooster crowed flat.

I saw him do it myself.

And now I really must be going.
Good-morning." I think I shall send out and kill that rooster at the first opportunity.

I want Keyser to have one thing less to fib about.