'I can see he gambles by him pickin' up the salt cellar between his thumb an' middle finger with the forefinger over the top like it's a stack of chips, one evenin' when he stays to supper an' I asks him to "pass the salt." Then ag'in, he don't drink; he tells me so himse'f when I invites him to libate.

I ain't goin' to have no teetotal son-in-law around, over-powerin' me in a moral way; I'd feel criticised an' I couldn't stand it, gents.

Lastly, I don't like this yere felon's name none.' "'Whatever is his name, then ?' asks Enright.

'So far he don't confide no title to us.' "'An' I don't wonder none!' says old Glegg.

'It shows he's decent enough to be ashamed.