Explore "Fiddles" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
This is Marny's story, not mine. He had a hammer in his hand at the time and a tack between his teeth.
"Going to hang Fiddles right under the old fellow's head," he burst out. "That's where he belongs. I'd have given a ten-acre if he could have drawn a bead on that elk himself. Fiddles behind a .44 Winchester and that old buck browsing to windward" -- and he nodded at the elk's head -- "would have made the village Mayor sit up and think. What a picturesque liar you are, Fiddles" -- here the point of the tack was pressed into the plaster with Marny's fat thumb -- "and what a good-for-nothing, breezy, lovable vagabond" -- (Bang! Bang! Hammer at play now) -- "you could be when you tried. There!"