Fiddles

This is Marny's story, not mine. He had a hammer in his hand at the timeand a tack between his teeth. "Going to hang Fiddles right under the old fellow's head," he burst out."That's where he belongs. I'd have given a ten-acre if he could havedrawn a bead on that elk himself. Fiddles behind a .44 Winchesterand that old buck browsing to windward"--and he nodded at the elk'shead--"would have made the village Mayor sit up and think. What apicturesque liar you are, Fiddles"--here the point of the tackwas pressed into the plaster with Marny's fat thumb--"and what agood-for-nothing, breezy, lovable vagabond"--(Bang! Bang! Hammer at playnow)--"you could be when you tried. There!" Marny stepped back and took in the stuffed head and wide-branchedantlers of the magnificent elk (five feet six from skull to tips) andthe small, partly faded miniature of a young man in a student cap andhigh-collared coat. I waited and let him run on. It is never wise to interrupt Marny. Hewill lose the thread of his