I'll bet he can jar the eternal calm outa that Native Son.

That's what grinds me worse than his throwin' on so much dog; he's so blamed satisfied with himself! You snub him, and he looks at yuh as if you was his hired man--and then forgets all about yuh.

He come outa that 'doby like he'd been swimmin' a river on a bet, and had made good and was a hee-ro right before the ladies.

Kinda 'Oh, that's nothing to what I could do if it was worth while,' way he had with him." "It wouldn't matter so much if he wasn't all front," Pink complained.
"You'll notice that's always the way, though.

The fellow all fussed up with silver and braided leather can't get out and do anything.
I remember up on Milk river--" Pink trailed off into absorbing reminiscence, which, however, is too lengthy to repeat here.
"Say, Mig-u-ell's down at the stable, sweatin from every pore trying to get his saddle clean, by golly!" Slim reported cheerfully, just as Pink was relighting the cigarette which had gone out during the big scene of his story.