"An’ there’s Skinny," he continued, slowly and gravely, while he rolled a cigarette. "Th’ only way you can see him, except at noon, is to look at him in front, or at his feet. Why, I grabbed a broom in th’ dark one time an’ shore apologized before I realized that it was n’t him at all. When he sits down he looks like a figger four, an’ I ’m allus a-scared he ’ll get into one pant’s laig by mistake. When he eats solid stuff he looks like a rope with a knot in it—it’s scary watchin’ them knots go down—looks like he was skinnin’ hisself. You can’t tell whether he ’s comin’ or goin’—th’ bumps is all alike. His laigs is so long he looks like a wishbone an’ I ’m holdin’ my breath most of th’ time for fear he ’ll split. When he goes huntin’ all he has to do is to stand still so th’ game won’t see him; it wanders up to see what’s holdin’ up th’ hat. He put Pete’s pants on once when he fell in th’ crick—after he fell in—an’ I lifts my hat when I saw th’ ridin’ skirts. His laigs are beautiful—except for them knobs half way down where they hinge. An’ when he swallers a mouthful of water he looks like a muscle dance. Why, I got into his bunk one night by mistake an’ spent five minutes a-tryin’ to smooth out a crease in th’ blanket. Then he wakes up an’ tells me to go over an’ scratch Red for a change. Tells me to git off ’n him, ’cause I ’m flattenin’ him out. That can’t be did, an’ he knew it, too. "What _you_ laughin’ at, Red? You ain’t got no laugh comin’. Every mornin’ you sit on th’ bunk an’ count yore clothes an’ groan. You put yore hat on first an’ yore boots next. Then you takes off th’ boots so yore socks can get on. Then th’ boots go on again. Then they come off again to let yore pants go on, after which on go th’ boots again. Then you take yore hat off to let th’ shirt slip over yore head an’ it goes right back on again. I ’ve seen you feel around for yore suspenders for five minutes before you remembered they was under th’ shirt." "Yo ’re another! I don’t wear no suspenders!" "No, you don’t. Not now, but you did. You quit ’em ’cause they cost a dollar a pair an’ kept gettin’ lost under th’ shirt. Now when you dress up you lift my suspenders. Tex never saw you in love. I did; lots of times; about twice a month. You put th’ saddle on th’ corral wall, close th’ horse, an’ mount th’ gate. You eat coffee with a knife an’ sugar th’ water. When I wake up first I see you huggin’ th’ pillow, which is my old coat wrapped around my old pants. If anybody says ’patience,’ you bust yore neck a-lookin’ for her. What did you do up to Wallace’s that time when his niece came on to visit at his ranch? Wallace told me all about it, an’ all about th’ toothbrush, too. Lemme see if you remember good. Did n’t you—"