Anyhow, that's what Tom Osby says. He driv along from Hocradle cañon
with 'em on the road from Vegas. Said the old man helt services every
mornin' before breakfast. More services'n breakfast sometimes. Tom,
he says old Whiskers--that's our next postmaster--he sings a-plenty,
lifts up his voice exceeding. Say," said Curly, turning on me again
fiercely, "that's one reason I'd marry the girl if for nothing else.
It takes more'n a bass voice and a copy of the Holy Scriptures to make
a Merry Christmas. Why, man, say, when I think of what a time we all
are going to have,--you, and me, and Mac, and Tom Osby, and Dan
Anderson, with all them things of our'n, and all these here things on
the side--champagne and all that,--it looks like this world ain't run
on the square, don't it?"

I assured Curly that this had long been one of my own conclusions.
Assuredly I had not the bad manners to thank him for his invitation to
join him in this banquet at Heart's Desire, knowing as I did Curly's
acquaintance with the fact that young attorneys had not always
abundance during their first year in a quasi-mining camp that was
two-thirds cow town; such being among the possibilities of that land.
I returned to the cake.

"Where'd we git it?" said Curly. "Why, where'd you s'pose we got it?
Do you think Dan Anderson has took to pastry along with the statoots
made and pervided? As for Dan, he ain't been here so very long, but
he's come to stay. We're goin' to send him to Congress if we ever get
time to organize our town, or find out what county we're in. How'd our
Delergate look spreadin' jelly cake? Nope, he didn't make it. And
does it look any like Mac has studied bakery doin's out on the
Carrizoso ranch? You know Tom Osby couldn't. As for me, if hard luck
has ever driv me to cookin' in the past, I ain't referrin' to it now.