However, Dave was resolved to try his luck, and so, soon after Albert’s departure, he blacked up his vast boots and slicked his hair, and went to Plausaby’s.  He had the good luck to find Katy alone.

“Howdy!  Howdy!  Howdy git along?  Lucky, ain’t I, to find you in?  Haw! haw!  I’m one of the luckiest fellers ever was born.  Always wuz lucky.  Found a fip in a crack in the hearth ’fore I was three year old.  ’Ts a fack.  Found a two-and-a-half gole piece wunst.  Golly, didn’t I feel some!  Haw! haw! haw!  The way of’t wuz this.”  But we must not repeat the story in all its meanderings, lest readers should grow as tired of it as Katy did; for Dave crossed one leg over the other, looked his hands round his knee, and told it with many a complacent haw! haw! haw!  When he laughed, it was not from a sense of the ludicrous:  his guffaw was a pure eruption of delighted self-conceit.

“I thought as how as I’d like to explain to you somethin’ that might ‘a’ hurt yer feelin’s, Miss Charlton.  Didn’t you feel a little teched at sompin’?”

“No, Mr. Sawney, you never hurt my feelings.”

“Well, gals is slow to own up that they’re hurt, you know.  But I’m shore you couldn’t help bein’, and I’m ever so sorry.  Them Injin goin’-ons of mine wuz enough to ‘a’ broke your heart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, my sellin’ out to Perritaut for ten thousand dollars, only I didn’t.  Haw! haw!” and Dave threw his head back to laugh.  “You had a right to feel sorter bad to think I would consent to marry a Injin.  But ’tain’t every feller as’ll git ten thousand offered in five annooal payments; an’ I wanted you to understand ’twan’t the Injin, ’twas the cash as reached me.  When it comes to gals, you’re the posy fer me.”

Katy grew red, but didn’t know what to say or do.

“I heerd tell that that feller Westcott’d got his walkin’ papers.  Sarved him right, dancin’ roun’ like a rang-a-tang, and jos’lin’ his keys and ten-cent pieces in his pocket, and sayin’ imperdent things.  But I could ‘a’ beat him at talk the bes’ day he ever seed ef he’d on’y ‘a’ gi’n me time to think.  I kin jaw back splendid of you gin me time.  Haw! haw! haw!  But he ain’t far—­don’t never gin a feller time to git his thoughts gethered up, you know.  He jumps around like the Frenchman’s flea.  Put yer finger on him an’ he ain’t thar, and never wuz.  Haw! haw! haw!  But jest let him stay still wunst tell I get a good rest on him like, and I’ll be dog-on’d ef I don’t knock the hine sights offen him the purtiest day he ever seed!  Haw! haw! haw!  Your brother Albert handled him rough, didn’t he?  Sarved him right.  I say, if a man is onrespectful to a woman, her brother had orter thrash him; and your’n done it.  His eye’s blacker’n my boot.  And his nose!  Haw! haw! it’s a-mournin’ fer his brains!  Haw I haw! haw!  And he feels bad bekase you cut him, too.  Jemently, ef he don’ look like ’s ef he’d kill hisself fer three bits.”