"And a patent medicine man would 'a' had on a stove-pipe," adds Bergin. "Maype he iss a preacher," puts in Dutchy, lookin' scairt as the dickens. "Nixey," I says. "But if he was a drummer, he'd 'a' steered straight fer a thirst-parlour." Missed it a mile--the hull of us. Minute, and in run Sam Barnes, face redder'n a danger-signal. "Boys," he says, all up in the air, "did y' see It? Wal, what d' you think? It's from Boston, and It writes. I was at the Arnaz feed shop, gassin' Carlota, when It shassayed in. Said It was down here fer the first time in a-a-all Its life, and figgers t' work this town fer book mawterial. Gents, It's a liter'toor sharp!" "Of all the _gall!_" growls Chub Flannagan, gittin' hot. "Goin' t' take a shy outen us!" And I seen that some of the other boys felt like _he_ did. Buckshot Milliken spit in his hands. "I'll go over," he says, "and just natu'lly settle that dude's hash. I'd _admire_ t' do it." I haided him off quick. Then I faced the bunch. "Gents," I begun, "ain't you just a little bit hasty? Now, don't git in a sweat. _Con_-sider this subject a little 'fore you act. Sam, I thought you _liked_ t' read liter'toor books." Sam hauled out "Stealthy Steve"--a fav'-rite of hisn. "Shore I do," he answers. "But, as I tole this Boston feller, no liter'toor's been happenin' in Briggs lately--no killin's, 'r train hole-ups." "_That's_ right, Sam," I says, sarcastic; "go and switch him over t' Goldstone,--when they won't be another book writer stray down this way fer a coon's age. Say! You got a haid like a tack!" Sam dried up. I come back at the boys. "Gents," I _con_tinues, "don't you see this is Briggs City's one big chanst?--the chanst t' git put in red letters on the railroad maps! T' git five square mile of this mesquite staked out into town lots! You all know how we've had t' take the slack of them jay-hawk farmers over Cestos way; and they ain't such a _much,_ and cain't raise nothin' but shin-oak and peanuts and chiggers. But they tell how _we_ git all the cyclones and rattlesnakes. "Now, we'll curl they hair. Listen, gents,--Oklahomaw City's got element streets, Guthrie's got a Carniggie lib'rary, and Bliss's got the Hunderd-One Ranch. _And we're a-goin' t' cabbage this book!_" "Wal, that's a hoss of another colour," admits Chub. "Yas," says Buckshot, "Cupid's right. We certainly got to attend to this visitor that's come to our enterprisin' city, and give him a fair shake." "_But,_" puts in Sam, "we're up a tree. Where's his mawterial?" "Mawterial," I says, "--I don't just savvy what he means by that. But, boys, whatever it is, we got t' see that he _gits_ it. Now, s'posin' I go find him, and sorta feel 'round a little, and draw him out." They was agreed, and I split fer the rest'rant. Boston was there, all right, talkin' to ole lady Arnaz (but keepin' a' eye peeled towards Carlota), and pickin' the shucks offen a tamale. I sit down and ast fer flapjacks. And whilst I was waitin' I sized him up.