Say, did you lick Dick? Jo
told my own mamma she wisht you'd killed him. Jo's awful mad to-day. I
guess she's mad at Dick, because he ain't very much of a fighter. Did
you lick him easy? Did you paste him one in the jaw?"
Josephine entered then with Ford's belated tea. Her eyelids were pink,
as Buddy had told him, and she did not look at him while she filled his
cup.
"Kate has a sick headache," she explained primly, "and I did the best I
could with lunch. I hope it's--"
"It is," Ford interrupted reassuringly. "Everything is fine and dandy."
"You didn't cook any potatoes!" Buddy charged mercilessly. "And Ford's
too drunk to put the butter on right. I'm going to tell my dad that next
time he goes to Oregon I'm going along. This outfit will sure go to the
devil if he stays much longer!"
"Where did you hear that, Bud?" Josephine asked, still carefully
avoiding a glance at Ford.
"Well, Dick said it would go to the devil. I guess," he added on his own
account, with an eloquent look at the table, "it's on the trail right
now."
Ford looked at Josephine, opened his lips to say that it might still be
headed off, and decided not to speak.
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