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Updated: June 25, 2025
"And, Thomas," said Brierley's wife, "you know how it is with Joe Taylor's lads and wenches. There's a big family on 'em. They're not short of brass in that house, or shouldn't be. There's drink enough and to spare goes down their throats, and yet there's not one of the whole lot but's as lean as an empty bobbin, and as white as a heap of cotton.
Ned Brierley's dwelling was the end house of a row, which had been recently built out of the united savings of himself and children. It was rather larger than the rest, and had one or two out-buildings attached, and also a considerable piece of garden ground belonging to it. In this garden Ned and his sons worked at odd times, and everything about it had a well-to-do air.
Rube did not observe that, on remounting, his companion held a black feather between his fingers. When they rode into Laramie, they found the cavalcade halted before Brierley's saloon, all ready to start. Nick Undrell rode up to Kiddie, respectfully touching the wide brim of his hat. "All s'rene, sir," he announced. "I got a gang o' picked boys distributed among the baggage.
Come, sit you down, and take a cup of tea, and here's summat to put in it as'll cheer you up." "I've just had my tea at Ned Brierley's," replied her husband; "I don't want no more." "Ah, but you must just take one cup. Reach me the jug, Molly. He made no reply, but threw himself back on the couch, and drew his cap over his eyes.
"Why, they're so proud, they can't look down upon their own shoes: and as for Brierley's wenches, if a fellow offers to speak to 'em, they'll snap his head off. And Martha herself's so fine that the likes of me's afraid to walk on the same side of the road for fear of treading on her shadow." "Well, Alice, I've oft abused 'em all myself; but I were wrong all the time. And you're wrong, Alice, too.
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