I said what was it like, and he said: “It is a little like a ephalent, cause it has got teeths mighty plain to see, and a little like a cammel, cause it has got a back, and a little like a giraft, cause it has got a neck, and a little like a jackus, cause its voice is heard in the stilly night, and a little like a man, cause it is pizen. It is a off spring of the thunder and the grave, and is distant related to the surf beat shore. When it winks a black shadow sweeps across the face of the world, and when it opens its eye again light breaks upon the land scope like dawn over the eastern hills. It walks a merridian of longitude and, lo, the east is parted from the west for to make room! It laughfs in fiendish glee and the milk sours in the cows of all nations. Yet this tempestilent creature can be as gentle as a suckin whirl pool and coo like laughture in a toomb.” I asked where was the hip found. Mister Gipple thought a while, and bime by he said: “A contented mind is better than great riches, but if you cant smuther your curosity you may look for it just out side the scruburbs of most any Afcan village, for it is mighty sociable and loves the fellership and communion of yuman beings better than pie. But when you go for to find the hip you better empty your pockets of your marbles, and your peg top, and your kite string, and your jack knife, and your base ball, and your 12 inches of rusty chain, or you will know them no more for ever.” I said would the hip take them away from me, and he said: “No, it wont, it will take you away from them.” But if I met a hip I would roll my sleefs up, and spit on my hands, and thunder: “You cowerdly feller, if you come a step nearer I will go home and tell my father!” And thats why I say courage is the stuff of life, and none but the brave deserts the fair! Mister Gipple says one time Mister Pitchel, thats the preacher, was a mitionary in Africa, like he was his self, and he converted all the peoples in a town, and they jest doted on him. But one night a natif nigger snook in to Mister Pitchels hut and said, the natif nigger did, “You better leave here mighty quick, for they are a goin to boil you.” Mister Gipple, which was astonish, he said: “I guess there is a mistake, cause Ime so popular.” The natif nigger he said: “Thats jest the reason, for they say you are a saint and it would bring a blessin to the town for to have a few of your rellics, jest your shin bones, and a half dozzen of the nuckles of the spine of your back, and maybe the skull of your head.” I asked Mister Gipple if them rellics of Mister Pitchel, would have done any good, and he said: “Well, Johnny, not bein a church feller, Ime not shure about it, and Ime particklar scepticle about the head, seein it has never done him any good his own self, but them shin bones surely did work a mirracle when he was a pullin out of that town.”