"Of all the ugly brutes I ever seen," said Parky, "that's the worst
yellow flea-trap of the whole caboose."
"Wal, I don't know," drawled Jim, as he patted his timid little pilgrim
on the back in a way of comfort. "All dogs look alike to a flea, and I
reckon Tintoretto is as good flea-feed as the next. And, anyhow, I
wouldn't have a dog the fleas had deserted. When the fleas desert a
dog, it's the same as when the rats desert a ship. About that time a
dog has lost his doghood, and then he ain't no better than a man who's
lost his manhood."
"Aw, I'd thump you and the cur together if you didn't have that kid on
deck," sneered the gambler.
"You couldn't thump a drum," answered Jim, easily. "Come back here,
Tintoretto. Don't you touch that skinny little critter with the
shakes. I wouldn't let you eat no such a sugar-coated insect."
The crowd was enjoying the set-to of words immensely. They now looked
to Parky for something hot. But the man of card-skill had little wit
of words.
"Don't git too funny, old boy," he cautioned. "I'd just as soon have
you for breakfast as not."
"I wish the fleas could say as much for you or your imitation dog,"
retorted Jim. "There's just three things in Borealis that go around
smellin' thick of perfume, and you and that little two-ounce package of
dog-degeneration are maybe some worse than the other.
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