I just about had to, you know, unless I wanted people to think I was an old country boy. Because I was the only one that had stopped to look. There was so much going on in that city that no one would ever give a second glance to something like ‘that!’

Ken and a deputy named Buck, a fella I’d never met before, were sitting in the sheriff’s office; slumped way down on their spines with their boots crossed out in front of ‘em, and their Stetsons tilted over their eyes.

I coughed and scuffled my feet, and Ken looked up from under his hatbrim. Then he said, “Why, I’ll be god-danged, if it ain’t the high sheriff of Potts County!” And he rolled his chair over to me and held out his hand.

“Set down, set down, Nick,” he said, and I sat down in one of the swivel chairs. “Buck, wake up and meet a friend of mine.”

Buck was already awake, as it turned out, so he rolled over and shook hands like Ken had. Then, Ken kind of jerked his head at him, and Buck rolled over to the desk and got out a quart of white corn and a handful of stogies.

“This here Buck is the smartest deputy I got,” Ken said, as we all had a drink and lit up. “Got a lot of initiative, Buck has. Don’t have to tell him every god-danged thing he’s supposed to do like you would some fellas.”

Buck said all he’d ever done was to just try to do his duty, and Ken said, no, sir, he was smart.

“Like old Nick here. That’s why he’s sheriff of the forty-seventh largest county in this state.”

“Yeah?” Buck said. “I didn’t know they was but forty-seven counties in the state.”

“Pre-zackly!” Ken said, sort of frowning at him. “How is things in Pottsville these days, Nick? Still booming?”

“Well, no,” I said. “I wouldn’t hardly say that was booming. Pottsville ain’t exactly no real metropolis like you got here.”

“Is that a fack?” Ken said. “Guess my recollection ain’t as good as it used to be.Just how big is Pottsville, anyways?”

“Well, sir,” I said, “there’s a road sign just outside of town that says ‘Pop. 1280,’ so I guess that’s about it. Twelve hundred and eighty souls.”

“Twelve hundred and eighty souls, huh? Is them souls supposed to have people to go with ‘em?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “that’s what I meant. It was just another way of saying twelve hundred and eighty people.”

We all had a couple more drinks, and Buck tossed his stogie in a gaboon and cut himself a chaw; and Ken said I wasn’t pre-zackly correct in saying that twelve hundred and eighty souls was the same as twelve hundred and eighty people.

“Ain’t that right, Buck?” Ken said, giving him a nod.

“Kee-rect!” Buck said. “You’re a thousand per cent right, Ken!”

“Natcherly! So just tell old Nick why I am.”