"
"Wa'al, I guess he knows now," said Shif'less Sol with a silent but deep
laugh. "Ef he's the kind o' man you say he is, Paul, an' I guess he is--he
needed our teachin' him a lesson. I hate a man who knows too much, who is
too almighty certain, an' I guess the Spaniard is one o' that kind. Think
o' him comin' out here in the woods, breakin' faith, so to speak, an'
holdin' you, Paul. Ef I wuz to go over to Europe, which I ain't ever goin'
to do--an' wuz to light down in one o' them big cities, Paris or London,
do you think I'd tell the fellers in the streets that I knowed more about
their town than they did?"
"No, Sol," said Paul, "you're too wise a man ever to do such a thing."
"I should hope I wuz," said Sol emphatically. "Jest think o' me stoppin' a
lot o' French fellers in the streets o' Paris, me jest happened in from
the woods fur the fust time, an' sayin' to them: 'Here, Bob, be keerful
how you cross the street thar, it's a right bad spot fur wagons, an' you'd
shorely git run over ef you tried it,' or 'Now, Dick, that thar is the
wrong street that you're takin', ef you foller it you'll land a full mile
from your cabin.'"
"But Frenchmen are not named Bob and Dick," said Paul with a smile.
"Wa'al ef they ain't they ought to be," said the shiftless one with
conviction.
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