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"We old mossbacks are slow to see anything good in new contraptions," said Mr. Larkin, after begging a Turkish cigarette from the Dude and lighting it with the Dude's patent pocket lamp, "but I'm just beginning to get it socked home into my feeble old intellect that things ain't naturally no account just because I never seen 'em afore.
But, as I was going to say, Dude's intention was to get out of town, return, go to the Pine Street room, divide the swag, and skip.
Likely that dude's cuffs was marked with something he was knowed by; but as most of us wasn't particular what his cuffs was marked, or him either, we just called him Boston after the town he made out he belonged to and let it go at that.
"Hullo, old hoss, how's th' gang?" he asked genially. "We've had a heck of a time this yere trip," he went on without waiting for Red to reply. "Five miles out of Las Cruces we stood off a son-of-a-gun that wanted th' dude's wealth. Then just this side of the San Andre foothills we runs into a bunch of young bucks who turned us off this yere way an' gave us a runnin' fight purty near all th' way.
That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General."
After setting the brake, McGonnigle went on humorously, gesticulating spaciously while the slack of the lines swung on the single-tree: "On this here hill the brake on a dude's automo-bubbly quit on him. When he come to the turn he went on over. Ruined the car, plumb wrecked it, and it must a cost $1,500 to $2,000. They shipped his corp' back East somewhere."
Whether it was the Lincoln green suit, or the tam-o'-shanter cap, or the dude's personal pulchritude, which most attracted his doggish soul, it was hard to say. Suddenly a window went up behind Purt and a lady put out her head. "Little boy! Little boy!" she called, shrilly. "I wish you'd take your dog away from here. I want to let my cat out, and dogs make her so nervous."
I don't like the looks of it." She mimicked the college dude's affected airs so perfectly that the three sisters shouted with laughter, forgetting for the moment their heavy burden of care. "What did you say?" asked Faith curiously, although in her heart she knew that Len must have met his match.
Nothing could convince that dog that Purt was not his loving friend. But finally the dude's serious air and his efforts to reach the dog with a particularly well-shod foot, made an impression on the Barnacle. He squatted down before Purt and lifting up his head, uttered a howl that would have brought tears to the eyes of a graven image.
It required a good deal of moral courage, a quality in which he was deficient, to resist a lady's demand. His knees trembled with fear as he scrambled in. Joe, who was standing not far away, looked on with a quiet smile on his face. He realized what was passing in the dude's mind. "He'd give ten dollars to get out of it," our hero told himself.
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