I used to think of him as a poor attic prune grind-
ing away in his New York sky parlor, writing his verse
of the things he longed for but had never known; until,
one day, I met a fellow between Victorville and Cajon
pass who knew His Knibbs, and come to find out this
Knibbs is a regular fellow. His attic covers all God's coun-
try that is out of doors and he knows the road from La
Bajada hill to Barstow a darned sight better than he
knows Broadway."
There was no answering sympathy awakened in either
of his listeners--they remained mute. Bridge rose and
stretched. He picked up his knife, wiped off the blade,
closed it and slipped it into a trousers' pocket. Then he
walked toward the door. At the threshold he paused
and turned. "'Good-bye girls! I'm through,'" he quoted
and passed out into the sunlight.
Instantly the two within were on their feet and follow-
ing him.
"Where are you going?" cried The Oskaloosa Kid.
"You're not going to leave us, are you?"
"Oh, please don't!" pleaded the girl.
"I don't know," said Bridge, solemnly, "whether I'm
safe in remaining in your society or not. This Oskaloosa
Kid is a bad proposition; and as for you, young lady, I
rather imagine that the town constable is looking for you
right now.
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