Them kind of looks don't go
with business clothes. I got to look fly--jest like I didn't know no
better."
"Perhaps you are right. You seem to make a go of everything you tackle."
"Yep! Some things I made go so fast I ain't caught up with 'em yet. You
know I used to wonder if a fella's face would ever come smooth again in
heaven. That was a spell ago. I ain't been worryin' about it none
lately."
"How old are you?"
"Me? I'm huggin' thirty-five clost. But not so clost I can't hear
thirty-six lopin' up right smart."
"Only thirty-five!" exclaimed Winthrop. Then quickly, "Oh, I beg your
pardon."
"That's nothin'", said Overland genially. "It ain't the 'thirty-five'
that makes me feel sore--it's the 'only.' You said it all then. But
believe me, pardner, the thirty-five have been all red chips."
"Well, you have _lived_," sighed Winthrop.
"And come clost to forgettin' to, once or twice. Anyhow,--speakin' of
heaven,--I'd jest as soon take my chances with this here mug of mine,
what shows I earned all I got, as with one of them there dead-fish faces
I seen on some guys that never done nothin' better or worse than get up
for breakfast."
Winthrop smiled. "Yes. And you believe in a heaven, then?"
"From mornin' till night.
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