Part 3 (1/2)

”If you don't keep your head where I put it, I'll throw up the job an'

let you go forth lookin' like the lost Goog o' Mayhan,” sez Eugene, raisin' his voice. Ol' man Dort was a whalin' big man, an' it tickled us a heap to see little Eugene givin' him directions, like as if he was nothin' but a pup dog.

Ol' man Dort settled back with a sigh, an' Eugene leathered up his razor without sayin' anything for a minute or two. Then he sez, as he begins shavin' again: ”That squirrel I have in mind for ring contests is the short-tailed grizzly ground-squirrel; and it's the biggest breed of squirrels the' is.”

”The' ain't no such a breed of squirrel as that!” yells ol' man Dort, springing erect in his chair, an' dullin' Eugene's razor by the operation.

Eugene stepped back an' looked at the blood flowin' from the fresh cut, an' he sez slow an' sarcastic; ”If it don't make any difference to you whether you have any skin on your face or not, why I'll just peel it off an' tack it on a board to shave it; but hanged if I'm goin' to duck around tryin' to shave you on the jump. The' is too grizzly ground-squirrels.”

Well, that's the way they had it back and forth: every time they would settle down to business an' Eugene would get a square inch o' the ol'

man's face cleared up, one of us boys would speak something in a low tone about there bein' rumors of an uncommon big squirrel out at some ranch house a hundred miles or so from there. Eugene would ask what breed of squirrel it was, an' then decide that it couldn't be a patchin' on a genuwine short-tailed grizzly ground-squirrel, an' then ol' man Dort couldn't stand it no longer an' he would forget what he was doin', bob up in his chair, an' lose some more of his life fluid.

Eugene sc.r.a.ped down both sides o' the ol' man's face, givin' all of his razors a chance to take part in the job, an' then he set his lips an' started in on the chin.

”What does short-tailed grizzly ground-squirrels eat, Eugene?” asked Spider Kelley, as innocent as an infant pigeon.

”They eat chickens,-” began Eugene, but ol' man Dort flew clean out o' the chair an' stood over Eugene shakin' with rage.

”Chickens?” he roars. ”Chickens! The' never was a squirrel foaled into this world what et chickens.”

Eugene looked at ol' man Dort, an' then he wiped his razor an' sat down on a chair, so full of disgust that he could hardly breathe.

”I wish you'd take off that ap.r.o.n an' bleed into the spittoon,” he said as calm as he could. ”I've got customers whose patronage is what makes up my living expenses; an' I don't want 'em to come in here an'

see the whole place a welter of gore.

”What do you think this shop is, anyway?” yelled Eugene springing to his feet an' entirely losin' his patience. ”Do you think that I make my livin' by grubbin' down wire gra.s.s which has been let grow for fifty years, an' educatin' ignoramuses in the knowledge of squirrels?

I don't care whether you believe in short-tailed grizzly ground-squirrels or not; but if you don't let me tie your head down to that chair, I won't shave another sprout off your chin. I take some pride in my profession, an' I don't intend to have no man go out o' my shop leavin' a trail o' blood which will draw all the dogs for miles around. Now, you can take your choice.”

Ol' man Dort had to give in that this was reasonable enough; so he climbed back into the chair, an' Eugene tied down his head an'

finished him off without any more trouble. As soon as he had stopped the bleedin' an' put on the perfume an' oil an' powder, he sez: ”Now, what I am goin' to do is to get some nourishment to recuperate back my strength, an' if you want the waste products washed out o' your hair, you come back here at one o'clock prompt.”

”I want to settle on that bet first,” said ol' man Dort, who was just as pernicious as Eugene, once you got him riled up.

”I'll make that bet with you after dinner,” sez Eugene, ”but first off I got to have food; I'm faint with weakness. Now, I'm goin' to lock up my shop.”

After Eugene had marched off to his boardin' house, we all gathered around ol' man Dort, an' complimented him on his improved appearance, though to be strictly honest, the' was considerable doubts about it.

He had two teeth out in front, an' the tobacco habit; and now, with no shrubbery to catch the spray, he spluttered terrible when he tried to talk fast. He said, though, that as long as he had started in he intended to take the full course, an' was comin' back, as soon as he'd had a bite to eat, to get his hair laundried an' trimmed up some around the edges; an' then he was goin' to make that bet about the squirrels.

It was some amusin' to see the ol' man get his hair sluiced out, but not near as much fun as seein' him shaved. Whenever Eugene found any stray product, he'd call us all over an' show it to us, an' this riled the ol' man up considerable; but the best joke was when Eugene found a woman's hairpin.

The ol' man vowed an' declared an' carried on somethin' fierce; but there was the hairpin, an' we made him pay for three rounds on the strength of it. As soon as Eugene was all through, the ol' man settled the bill, payin' for a full day's work like a regular sport, an' not tryin' to beg off at the ordinary retail price; and then he hardened his face an' sez: ”Now I bet you ten dollars, that you can't bring forward a squirrel as big as my Ben Butler.”

”I'll take that bet,” sez Eugene, ”but you got to give me time to locate a short-tailed grizzly. It's the scarcest breed the' is, an'

it'll probably cost me twice the sum to get one, but I don't care about that. What I want is to vindicate myself. I'd like to see that squirrel o' yours.”

”You come right along,” sez ol' man Dort, glowin' with pride. ”I reckon when you see him, you'll just hand over the money at once-That is, if you know anything at all about squirrels.”

We all marched around to the general store, an' ol' man Dort pounded on the cage. When Ben Butler sat up an' looked around to see what was up, the ol' man waved his hand at him, looked down at Eugene, an' sez: ”Well?” He said it just like that: ”Wu-el?”

Ben Butler was rollin' fat, an' he certainly did look like some squirrel to us; but Eugene merely glanced at him, an' sez: ”Hum, what we call a dwarf red squirrel, up in Nova Scotia. They have tails, though, up there.”

The ol' man spluttered till we had to pound him on the back. ”Dwarf?”