"I said what kind of a job're you lookin' for, if you're lookin' for any?"
"'Most any kind."
"Can you tend bar?"
"Well, I never did, sir."
"Maybe you can deal faro?"
"I'm afraid I'd fail to give satisfaction at it, sir."
"Huh!" said Uncle Boley, in the manner of a man who had so little faith that it almost amounted to contempt. Presently he brightened a bit and looked up hopefully.
"Can you cook or carpenter?"
Texas smiled, a smile that illuminated his face like a light within. He shook his head slowly, fighting the smile back to the corners of his mouth, the corners of his dark eyes.
"No, sir. I wouldn't be a bit of good at either of them."
"Huh!" said Uncle Boley, with a little more stress on it than before.
He returned to his work with the air of a man who knew himself to be in for a bad job, and determined to have it off his hands as soon as possible. Uncle Boley had canvassed the list of possibilities in Cottonwood for a man who wore shoes. Outside of the arts and crafts named nobody went around in shoes; and if a man who wore them could
