I
ladled Three H all over him."
"I thought Dick was a fighter from Fighterville," grinned Ford, trying
hard to remain non-committal and making a poor job of it.
"Well, he is, when he can stand up and box according to rule, or hit a
man when he isn't looking. But my, oh! This wasn't a fight, Ford; this
was like the pictures you see of an old woman lambasting her son-in-law
with an umbrella. Dick never got a chance to begin. Whee-ee! Mose sure
can handle a rolling-pin some!"
Ford laughed and went up to the house to his supper, and to the
constrained atmosphere which was telling on his nerves more severely
than did the gallon jug in his closet, and the moral effort it cost to
keep that jug full to the neck.
He went in quietly, threw his hat on the bed, and sat down with an air
of discouragement. It was not yet six o'clock, and he knew that Mrs.
Kate would not have supper ready; but he wanted a quiet place in which
to think, and he was closer to Josephine; though he would never have
admitted to himself that her nearness was any comfort to him. He did
admit, however, that the jug with the brown neck and handle pulled him
to the room many times in spite of himself.
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