How 'bout sum soap an' water fore I eat?
an' yer cudn't loan me a razor, cud ye ?" He rubbed his chin reflectively with stubby fingers.
"Wal' I got plenty o' water, an' maybe cud scare up sum soap.

Tim yere he's got a razor, an', if he's a frien' o' yers, I reckon he mought lend it ter yer--thet's sure sum hell ov a beard yer've got." The deputy gulped down his drink, and smacked his lips, clinging with one hand to the bar, regarding me lovingly.
"Sure; he's friend' o' mine.

Shave him myself soon's I git sober.
Stand most whisky all righ', but damn if I kin this kind--only hed three drinks, tha's all---whut's thet?
Yer can't wait?
Oh, all righ' then, take it yerself.

Mighty fin' razor, ol' man." Rale found me a tin basin, water, a bit of rag for a towel, and a small, cracked mirror, in which my reflection was scarcely recognizable.

He was a man of few words, contenting himself with uttering merely a dry comment on Kennedy, who had dropped back into a convenient chair, and buried his face on the table.
"Tim's a damn good fellow, an' I never saw him so blame drunk afore," he said, regretfully.