“Oh yes, but not the first shot out of the box.” Walton took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow, upon which lay the red imprint of his hatband, and smiled sheepishly. “The truth is, Toby, the nigher I got to that blamed town the sillier I felt, till by the time I was there and duly quartered at what they told me was their best hotel I hardly knew my hat from a hole in the ground. You see, my predicament was peculiar, and would have been odd to _any_ man in the plight I was in. I didn't know but two souls in the town. One of 'em was not only the great high mucky-muck of the place, but a man I'd called a thief and a liar and kicked plumb out of my sanctum when he had called to do me a _favor_; and the other was--well, he was my only son, who I had treated like a yellow dog. You see, I knew that downright apologies was what I owed _both_ of 'em; but, Toby, let me tell you something odd--I don't know how to account for it: but, as just and upright as I've always been in my dealings in a _general_ way, I never, in so many plain words, ever told a human being I was sorry. I have been that way, and was willing to try to sort o' _look_ it, in cases where I was _dead_ wrong; but I'd rather take a thousand lashes on my bare back any day than come right out and beg a fellow's pardon.” “I understand,” Toby said, sympathetically. “A great many folks are that way.” “Well, I don't think I'm like a great many folks,” Walton replied, as his eyes rested on the back of his horse, “but I couldn't swallow that pill. So there I was, registered at that fine joint, with a front room all to myself, overlooking the street, and the clerks and nigger porters looking at me, same as to say, 'Well, what is your game? Are you a whiskey drummer, bank-examiner, detective, stock-drover, or escaped convict?' I was like a fish out of water. I didn't know what to do or how to make any sort of start. I sat round the office half the time, and the rest I was flopping about in my room. The first day passed that way, and the next night, in which I had hardly got a wink of sleep. There was a bar-room and gambling-hell right under me, and I could hear some whizzing thing and balls rolling, and a deep voice calling out in some game or other. It was a gay town, and I was in the middle of it. The next morning I determined I'd write Fred a note and let him know where I was at, but I'd no sooner got it ready and backed and sealed than I recalled that Fred wasn't using his own name, and that a note addressed to him in the old style might cause talk, and so I tore it up. Then I ventured out and, half-scared to death, actually walked by the big store--on the opposite side of the street, though--and peeped in through the windows. It was as busy as a beehive during a swarm, but I couldn't see head nor tail of Fred. All at once I took the bit in my mouth and started across the street to go in, but was stopped short. And what do you reckon done it, Toby?”