That jug belongs to Mose," he told her simply.
"Dick told me Mose had it; rather, Dick went into the kitchen and got
it, and turned it over to me." In spite of the words, he did not give
one the impression that he was defending himself; he was merely offering
an explanation because she seemed to demand one.
"Dick got it and turned it over to you!" Her forehead wrinkled again
into vertical lines. She studied him frowningly. "Will you give it to
me?" she asked directly.
Ford folded his arms and scowled down at the jug. "No," he refused at
last, "I won't. If booze is going to be the boss of me I want to know
it. And I can't know it too quick."
"But--you're only human, Ford!"
"Sure. But I'm kinda hoping I'm a man, too." His eyes lightened a
little while they rested upon her.
"But you've got the poison of it--it's like a traitor in your fort,
ready to open the door. You can't do it! I--oh, you'll never understand
why, but I can't let you risk it. You've got to let me help; give it to
me, Ford!"
"No, You go on to the house, and don't bother about me. You can't
help--nobody can. It's up to me.
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