§ 344 A Squirrel Without a Peer
In the wicked days when drinking still was going on, Riley Wilson, the official humorist of West Virginia, met on the streets of Huntington a friend of his from up in the mountains. Extending the customary hospitalities, Wilson invited the hillsman to have something. The visitor was agreeably inclined. They crossed the street and entered the swinging doors of a life-saving station.
At one end of the bar an electric fan was buzzing. The gaze of the mountaineer froze on this novel object. So absorbed and interested was he that he almost forgot to help himself from the bottle which the barkeeper set out for him. He put down his emptied glass and, walking close up to the fan, continued to watch it in a fascinated silence.
“Well, old man,” said Wilson, “are you ready to move along?”
“Riley,” answered the mountaineer without turning his head, “ef you don’t mind, I’m goin’ to stay here a spell longer. I don’t know how long I may be here, ’cause I aim to wait until this here critter stops spinnin’ this wheel around so I can git a good look at it. I’ve seen some peart squirrels caged up, in my time, but this shore must be the peartest one that ever was ketched.”