He might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywhere, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller - a stranger in the camp, he was - come across him with his box, and says: "What might be that you’ve got in the box?" And Smiley says, sort of indifferent-like, "It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain’t - it’s only just a frog." And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, "H’m--so ’tis. Well, what’s he good for?" "Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he’s good enough for one thing, I should judge - he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."
The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don’t see no p’ints about him that’s of any value..."
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