hungry. De Missus got soft on him--she's dat kind, ye know. Yer oughter
seen him eat! Well, I guess! Been in a littingrapher's shop--ye kin tell
by his fingers. Say, Bowser, show de gentleman yer fingers."

Bowser held them up as quickly as if the order had come down the barrel
of a Winchester.

"And ye oughter see him draw. Gee! if I could draw like him I wouldn't
do nothin' else. But I ain't never had nothin' in my head like that. A
feller's got to have sumpin' besides school-larnin' to draw like him.
Now you're a sketch-artist, and know. Why, he drawed de Sheriff last
Sunday sittin' in de porch huggin' his bitters, to de life. Say, Bowse,
show de gentleman de picter ye drawed of de Sheriff."

Bowser slipped his hand under the bar and brought out a charcoal sketch
of a black mustache surrounded by a pair of cheeks, a treble chin, and
two dots of eyes.

"Kin hear him speak, can't ye? And dat ain't nothin' to de way he kin
print. Say, Bowse"--the intimacy grew as the young man's talents loomed
up in Muffles's mind--"tell de gentleman what de boss said 'bout yer
printin'."

"Said I could print all right, only there warn't no more work." There
was a modesty in Bowser's tone that gave me a better opinion of him.

"Said ye could print all right, did he? Course he did--and no guff in
it, neither. Say, Missus"--and he turned to his wife, who had just
come in, the youngest child in her arms. She weighed twice as much as
Muffles--one of those shapeless women with a kindly, Alderney face, and