"I thought you said it was
ambrose."
"I only wished to see if you would recognize it, my friend,"
replied the poetical one politely. "I am highly complimented
that you can guess what it is from its taste."
For several minutes the two ate in silence, passing the tin
can back and forth, and slicing--hacking would be more
nearly correct--pieces of meat from the half-roasted fowl. It
was Billy who broke the silence.
"I think," said he, "that you been stringin' me--'bout
James and ambrose."
The other laughed good-naturedly.
"You are not offended, I hope," said he. "This is a sad old
world, you know, and we're all looking for amusement. If a
guy has no money to buy it with, he has to manufacture it."
"Sure, I ain't sore," Billy assured him. "Say, spiel that part
again 'bout Penelope with the kisses on her mouth, an' you
can kid me till the cows come home."
The camper by the creek did as Billy asked him, while the
latter sat with his eyes upon the fire seeing in the sputtering
little flames the oval face of her who was Penelope to him.
When the verse was completed he reached forth his hand
and took the tin can in his strong fingers, raising it before his
face.
"Here's to--to his Knibbs!" he said, and drank, passing the
battered thing over to his new friend.
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