human
Now, ain't it a shame, he went on to say,
gpt
Told you to wear the old mitts Step Hen offered you, but you sneered at the idea. I'm feeling pretty cold myself, considerin' that I'm on the move all the time. Say, where are we anyhow, and how far from the camp?
human
Here's the compass, and we c'n see which way is north, all right. Then east is off that way on the right, south around yonder, and west here. But where in the dickens is that camp, south, north or east? Honest, Bumpus, I don't know!
gpt
No more do I, Giraffe, replied the other.
human
And d'ye know, this makes me think of that Injun that got lost, and was found, half starved, by some white men; but he was too proud to admit his little shortcoming; so when they asked him if he hadn't kinder managed to get twisted in his bearings, he slaps his breast with his hand, take a pose like this, and says he: 'Injun not lost; wigwam lost; Injun _here_!' And we're like that Injun, Giraffe; oh! no, we're not lost one little bit, because we know we're here. But I just can't amble on any longer. Suppose we stop and camp. These partridges will taste prime. Yum! yum, can't get at 'em too soon to please me. Get busy, and light a fire, Giraffe; that's your part of the contract always.
gpt
I sure will, if you give me a few matches, Bumpus,
human
Matches! Why, you're the fire-maker; and I thought you'd take care of that part of the business!
gpt
Why, what a silly you can be, Bumpus; don't you know I promised Thad never to carry a single match around with me? And now, look what a fix we're in, lost in the Maine woods, with night coming on, and gettin' colder every minute; and not a single match to start a fire with. I see our finish all right. When they find us some days from now, we'll be just frozen stiff, that's what!