"Wal, just let me tell you," he _con_tinues, steppin' closter, "that I, fer one, ain't got _no_ use fer a feller that's allus a-stickin' in his lip." "Sewell," I says, "no feller _likes_ to--that's a cinch. But oncet in a while it's plumb needful." "It is, is it? And I s'pose _this_ is one of them cases. Wal, Mister Cupid, all I can say is this: The feller that sticks in his lip _allus gits into trouble._" Sometimes, them words of hisn come back to me. Mebbe I'll be feelin' awful good-natured, and be a-laughin' and talkin'. Of a suddent, up them words'll pop, and the way he said 'em, and all. And even if it's right warm weather, why, I _shiver,_ yas, ma'am. _The fetter that sticks in his lip allus gits into trouble_--nothin' was ever said truer'n that! "And," the ole man goes on again, a little bit hoarse by now, "I can feel you' trouble a-comin'. So far, you been lucky. But it cain't last--it cain't last. You know what it says in the Bible? (Mebbe it ain't in the Bible, but that don't matter.) It says, 'Give a fool a rope and he'll hang hisself.' And one of these times you'll play Cupid just oncet too many. What's more, the smarty that can allus bring other folks t'gether cain't never manage t' hitch hisself." I'd been keepin' still 'cause I didn't want they should be no hard feelin's 'twixt us. But that last _re_mark of hisn kinda got my dander up. "Aw, I don't know," I answers; "when it comes my own time, I don't figger t' have much trouble." Wal, sir, the old man flew right up. His face got the colour of sand-paper, and he brung his two hands t'gether clinched, so's I thought he'd plumb crack the bones. "Haw!" (That laugh again--bitter'n gall.) "Mister Cupid Lloyd, _you just wait._" And out he goes. "Cupid," says Billy, "I'm _turrible_ sorry. Seems, somehow, that you've got Sewell down on y' account of me----" "That's all right, Doc," I answers; "_I_ don't keer. It mocks nix oudt, as Dutchy 'd say." And I shook hands with him and Rose, and kissed the baby. It mocks nix oudt--that's what I said. Wal, how was I t' know then, that I'd made a' enemy of the _one_ man that, later on, I'd be willin' t' give my _life_ t' please, almost?--_how_ was I t' know? CHAPTER TWO A THIRST-PARLOUR MIX-UP GIVES ME A NEW DEAL AIN'T it funny what little bits of things can sorta change a feller's life all 'round ev'ry which _di_rection--shuffle it up, you might say, and throw him out a brand new deal? Now, take my case: If a sassy greaser from the Lazy X ranch hadn't 'a' plugged Bud Hickok, Briggs City 'd never 'a' got the parson; if the parson hadn't 'a' came, I'd never 'a' gone to church; and mebbe if I hadn't never 'a' gone to church, it wouldn't 'a' made two cents diff'rence whether ole man Sewell was down on me 'r not--fer the reason that, likely, I'd never 'a' met up with Her.