The Vagabond in Green

"Seattle."

"Honest? Say, kid, this is---- Muh boy, we shall have the rare privilege
of pooling adventures as far as Blewett Pass, four to six days' run from
here--a day this side of Seattle. I'm going to my gold-mine there. I'll
split up on the grub--I note from your kit that you camp nights. Quite
all right, my boy. Pinky Parrott is no man to fear night air."

He patted Milt's shoulder with patronizing insolence. He filled a pipe
and, though the car was making twenty-five, he lighted the pipe with
distinguished ease, then settled down to his steady stride: "In the pride of youth, you feel that you have thoroughly categorized
me, particularly since I am willing to admit that, though I shall have
abundance of the clinking iron men to buy my share of our chow, I chance
just for the leaden-footed second to lack the wherewithal to pay my
railroad fare back to Blewett; and the bumpers and side-door Pullman of
the argonauts like me not. Too damn dusty. But your analysis is
unsynthetic, though you will scarce grasp my paradoxical metaphor."

"The hell I won't. I've taken both chemistry and rhetoric," growled
Milt, strictly attending to driving, and to the desire to get rid of his
parasite.

"Oh! Oh, I see. Well, anyway: I am no mere nimble knight of wits, as you
may take it. In fact, I am lord of fair acres in Arcady."

"Don't know the burg. Montana or Idaho?"

"Neither! In the valley of dream!"

"Oh! That one. Huh!"