Losson
used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on the side of the cot, and ask the
parrot what it thought of Simmons. The parrot would answer:
"Simmons, ye so-oor." "Good boy," Losson used to say, scratching
the parrot's head; "ye 'ear that, Sim?" And Simmons used to turn
over on his stomach and make answer: "I 'ear. Take 'eed you don't
'ear something one of these days."
In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind
rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over,
while he thought in how many different ways he would slay
Losson. Sometimes he would picture himself trampling the life
out of the man, with heavy ammunition-boots, and at others
smashing in his face with the butt, and at others jumping on his
shoulders and dragging the head back till the neckbone cracked.
Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he would reach
out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin.
But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with
him longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under
Losson's right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and
thereafter it was always before his eyes. It was a fascinating roll of
fat. A man could get his hand upon it and tear away one side of the
neck; or he could place the muzzle of a rifle on it and blow away
all the head in a flash.
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