"To resoom," he said cheerily; "I come out one day, half nood, onto the
banks of the Miami River. The rest was a pipe after what I had went
through.
"I trimmed a guy at Miami, got clothes and railroad fare, an' ducked.
"Now the valyble portion of my discourse is this here partial information
concernin' what I seen--or rather what I run onto durin' my crool flight
from my ree-lentless persecutors.
"An' these here is the facts: There is, contrary to maps, Coast Survey
guys, an' general opinion, a range of hills in Florida, made entirely of
coquina.
"It's a good big range, too, fifty miles long an' anywhere from one to
five miles acrost.
"An' what I've got to say is this: Into them there Coquina hills there
still lives the expirin' remains of the cave-men--"
"What!" I exclaimed incredulously.
"Or," he continued calmly, "to speak more stric'ly, the few individools
of that there expirin' race is now totally reduced to a few women."
"Your statement is wild--"
"No; but they're wild. I seen 'em. Bein' extremely bee-utiful I
approached nearer, but they hove rocks at me, they did, an' they run into
the rocks like squir'ls, they did, an' I was too much on the blink to
stick around whistlin' for dearie.
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