"Pardner, it seems like home to get back.

Do you know, Reade, I've taken a big liking to you ?" "Peter," protested Tom, "if you don't look out you'll make me the vainest cub on earth." "I mean it," asserted Pete.

"Pardner, I've a notion me and you are likely to become big friends." "I never dared to hope for so much," breathed Tom, keeping back a laugh.
"'Cause," continued Bad Pete, "I reckon you're one of the kind that never goes back on a real pardner." "I should hope not," Tom assured him.
"Have a cigar ?" urged Pete, doffing his sombrero and taking out a big, black weed that he tendered the cub.
"What's the matter with it ?" asked Tom curiously.
For just a second Bad Pete's eyes flashed.

Then he choked back all signs of anger as he drawled: "The only matter with this cigar, pardner, is that it's a gen-u-wine Havana cigar." "I couldn't tell it from a genuine Baltimore," asserted Tom.
"But I suppose that is because I never smoked." "You never smoked?
Pardner, you've got a lot to learn," replied Bad Pete, as he put the cigar back in his hat and replaced the latter on his head.

"And, while we're talking about such matters, pardner, you might just hand me a twenty for a few days." "Twenty dollars ?" returned Tom.