Thar's a smooth, good-lookin' stranger who's camped at a table near.

Final, he yawns like he's shore weary of life an' looks at us sharp an' cur'ous.

Then he speaks up gen'ral as though he's addressin' the air.
"This is a mighty dull town!" he says.

"Which I've been yere a fortnight an' I ain't had no fight as yet." An' he continyoos to look us over plenty mournful.
"'"You-all needn't gaze on us that a-way," says a gent named Granger; "you can set down a stack on it, you ain't goin' to pull on no war with none of us." "'"Shore, no!" says the onhappy stranger.

Then he goes on apol'getic; "Gents, I'm onfort'nately constitootcd.