pink mets jersey

By and by we breakfasted. After which, my precious horse not having finished his corn, I spread my blanket and let myself doze, but was soon awakened by the shouts of my companions laughing at me for laughing so piteously in my sleep.

"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

"We smuggled it through!" chanted the trio, ready to weep for virtuous joy. And then they clasped arms like the graces, about their aunt, and let her speak.

The pair looked at each other behind my neck for full ten seconds. Then the younger man leaned to his horse's mane in a silent laugh while Sergeant Jim looked me over again and remarked that he would be horn-swoggled!

"The horse may have to save you," drawled the Arkansan.

I was not seeking enemies just then and was not pleased. "Didn't the Yankees fall back this morning before day and move southward?" I asked.

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