Around Shoop were scattered pieces of paper; bits of letters written and torn up.

“It’s a dam’ sight worse resignin’ than makin’ out my application—­and that was bad enough,” growled Shoop.  “But I got to do this personal.  This here pen is like a rabbit gone loco.  Now, here I set like a bag of beans, tryin’ to tell John Torrance why I’m quittin’ this here job without makin’ him think I’m glad to quit—­which I am, and I ain’t.  It’s like tryin’ to split a flea’s ear with a axe; it can’t be did without mashin’ the flea.  Now, if John was here I could tell him in three jumps.  The man that invented writin’ must ‘a’ been tongue-tied or had sore throat some time when he wanted to talk awful bad.  My langwidge ain’t broke to pull no city rig—­or no hearse.  She’s got to have the road and plenty room to sidestep.

“Now, how would I say it if John were here?  Would I start off with ’Dear John’ or ‘Dear Old Friend’?  I reckon not.  I’d just say:  ‘John, I’m goin’ to quit.  I tried to do by you what I said I would.  I got a chanct to bust into the State House, and I got a good reason for bustin’ in.  I been nominated for Senator, and I got to live up to the name.  I’m a-goin’ to run for Senator—­and mebby I’ll keep on when I get started, and end up somewhere in Mexico.  I can’t jine the reg’lars account of my physical expansibility and my aige, so I got to do my fightin’ to home.  I’m willin’ to stick by this job if you say the word.  Mebby some folks would be dissap’inted, but I can stand that if they can.  What do you reckon I better do?’

“Now, that’s what I’d say if John was here.  Why in tarnation can’t I say it on paper?  Lemme see.”

Bud filled a sheet with his large, outdoor script.  When he had finished, he tucked the letter in an envelope hurriedly.  He might reconsider his attempt if he re-read the letter.

He was carefully directing the envelope when Lorry strode in.

’"Bout time you showed up,” said Shoop.

Lorry dropped his hat on the floor and pulled up a chair.  He was a bit nervous.  Preamble would make him more so.  He spoke up quickly.

“Bud, I want to resign.”

“Uh-uh.  You tired of this job?”

“Nope; I like it.”

“Want more pay?”

“No; I get all I’m worth.”

“Ain’t you feelin’ well?”

“Bully!  I’m going to enlist.”

“Might ‘a’ knowed it,” said Bud, leaning back and gazing at the newly addressed envelope on his desk.  “Got your reports all in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, seem’ you’re quittin’ for the best reason I know, I’m right glad.  You done your work like I expected.  Your mother knows you’re goin’ to jine the army?”

“I told her yesterday.  I’ve been at the ranch.”

“Uh-uh.  How’s your dad?”

“He ain’t so spry.  But he is better.”

“Uh-uh.  That young Mexican stayin’ at the ranch with him?”

“You couldn’t chase Ramon away with a gun.”