Now, I just have this notion of the young stranger.
He's after no good. I reckon he's like a hundred others; too
lazy to go to work, he goes to preaching, and learns in the first
sermon to beg hard for the missionaries. I'll lick him, Bill, to
a certainty, if he gives me the littlest end of an opportunity."
"Pshaw, Ned, don't think of such a thing. You are quite too fond
of licking people."
"Deuse a bit. It does 'em good. Look you, this chap is monstrous
like Joe Richards. I'll have to lick him on that account."
"You're mad, Ned; talk of whipping a preacher."
"He's no preacher yet," said the other, "but if I lick him he may
become one."
"No matter, he's never offended you."
"Ay, but he will. I see it in the fellow's looks. I never was
mistaken in a fellow's looks in all my life."
"Wait till he does offend you then."
"Well, I'm willing to do that, for I know the time will come. I'm
always sure, when I first see a man, to know whether I'll have to
flog him or not. There's a something that tells me so. Isn't that
very singular, Bill?"
"No! you form a prejudice against a man, fancy that you ought to
whip him, and then never rest till you've done so.
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