He
instinctively flung one hand back to his hip, only to remember that all
guns had been left at the door. McNeil eyed him calmly, as he might
eye a chained bear, his lips parted in a genial smile.
"I--eh--ain't no great shakes of an--eh--orator," he began,
apologetically, waving one hand toward his gasping rival, "like
Mr.--eh--Moffat. I can't sling words round--eh--reckless, like
the--eh--gent what just had the floor, ner--eh--spout poetry, but I
reckon--eh--I kin git out--eh--'bout what I got to say. Mr. Moffat
has--eh--told you what the--eh--Bachelor Miners' Club--eh--has been
a-doin'. He--eh--spread it on pretty blame thick, but--eh--I reckon
they ain't--eh--all of 'em miners round this yere--eh--camp. As
the--eh--president of the--eh--Cattlemen's Shakespearian--eh--Reading
Circle, I am asked to present to--eh--Miss Spencer a slight
token--eh--of our esteem, and--eh--to express our pleasure
at--eh--being permitted," he bowed to the choking Mr. Moffat, "eh--to
participate in this--eh--most glorious occasion."
He stepped forward, and dropped into Miss Spencer's lap a small
plush-covered box.
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