"
"What about Wilkins?" I asked.
"Nothin' thrillin', "answered the old gentleman; "nothin' you'd stay
up nights to hear, I don't reckon. It's Wilkins's daughter who is
the only redeemin' thing about the old Cimmaron; an' it's a heap
likely right now it's her I remembers about instead of him.
"Not at all," he continued, "I don't mind onfoldin' as to Wilkins,
nor yet of an' concernin' his daughter. You see this Wilkins is
herdin' 'round Wolfville when I first trails in. I never does know
where he hails from. I don't reckon' though, he ever grades no ways
high, an' at the crisis I'm mentionin' his speshul play is gettin'
drunk mostly; an' not allowin' to hurt himse'f none with work.
"'Workin' with your fins,' says this Wilkins, 'is low an'
onendoorin' to a gent with pride to wound. It ain't no use neither.
I knows folks as works, an' folks as don't, an' you can't tell one
from which. They gets along entirely sim'lar.
"'But how you goin' to live?' says Dave Tutt, when he makes this
remark, an' who is fussin' with Wilkins for bein' so reedic'lous an'
shiftless.
"'That's all right about my livin',' says Wilkins; 'don't you-all
pass no restless nights on my account.
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