As I have said, Sam was a man of few words, but on the subject of war he was more talkative than an old man. His memory on that one subject was extraordinary; knowing the dates of battles, the number of their forces, names of generals and regiments, and the exact position of their entrenchments. Tim must have unwittingly broached this subject, for I was suddenly startled by hearing Oaklahoma Sam say, "This is Napoleon"; at the same time down went his knife over half an inch into the table. I had noticed from the first that Sam had scornfully pushed aside my table knife, preferring to use his own, although he had retained the use of my fork. Looking at once in that direction, I saw Tim's face turned my way, with sarcasm trembling on his lips, which only needed a little encouragement, and he would then utter one of his scathing sentences, thinking to blight at once the newly-opened flower of Sam's eloquence. "Don't look that way, look at me," cried the man from Oaklahoma, placing his left hand on Tim's shoulder, and speaking in a voice terribly quiet and firm. "I see," answered Tim, leaning back, with his two hands resting on the table--"I see; this is Napoleon." "Yes, and this is Blucher," continued Sam, taking the knife out of the table, and quickly planting it dangerously near to Tim's right hand. "And this," cried Sam, forcing his words between his teeth, and holding the knife suspended in the air, "is Wellington," and down it flashed between the two big fingers of Tim's left hand. Tim grew much paler as he removed that hand to his knee, and it was at once apparent to me that for the rest of the evening he was a spell-bound man, afraid to hazard even a civil question, for fear it would be misunderstood. Next to Sam and Tim sat Chicago Slim, who was relating to Bony--an English beggar--his awful suffering for a week in the State of Utah, where a beggar had no other food than bread and milk confronting him on every threshold he approached, and how travelling in that part was known to all beggars as "the bread-and-milk route." Such were his awful sufferings, related to the sympathetic ears of Bony, who, in exchange, mentioned his own disappointments in England, "where," said he, "I find public-houses to be the easiest, quickest, and most profitable places." He was just about to cite instances when the Curly Kid, who had been listening to their conversation, asked Chicago Slim this question: "How is it that, when I was in Utah, the citizens did not baby _me_ with bread and milk?" "Don't know," answered Slim, disconcerted not a little. "I went to no houses, but begged on the fly, and people had to give money or nothing. Slim, I reckon no true beggar would allow himself to be fed day after day on bread and milk." Chicago Slim did not answer, and at once fell in the estimation of Bony, who now considered him to be unworthy of further attention.