"Sit down, Peppajee. Bimeby eat supper," Peaceful invited
pacifically, while Baumberger chuckled at the Indian's attitude,
which he attributed to racial stupidity.
Peppajee did not even indicate that he heard or, hearing,
understood.
"Bothered much with Injuns?" Baumberger asked carelessly, putting
away his pipe. "I see there's quite a camp of 'em up on the
hill. Hope you've got good watchdogs--they're a thieving lot.
If they're a nuisance, Hart, I'll see what can be done about
slapping 'em back on their reservation, where they belong. I
happen to have some influence with the agent."
"I guess you needn't go to any trouble about it," Peaceful
returned dryly. "I've had worse neighbors."
"Oh--if you're stuck on their company!" laughed Baumberger
wheezily. "'Every fellow to his taste, as the old woman said
when she kissed her cow.' There may be good ones among the lot,"
he conceded politely when he saw that his time-worn joke had met
with disfavor, even by the boys, who could--and usually
did--laugh at almost anything.
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