"Belike we won't hev no boots nayther, yer contagious yard o' shingle! Paddy, cut along in an' tell Lou as the audience is requestin' him ter come an' oblige wi' 'The Ole Bullock Dray.' "
In the close dark of the eating- whare where the cook and the slushy juggled with tin plates and dirty water, Lou was drawing a three- shed cheque from young Benson by power of five cards and some science. He retired Paddy with direct insult, and the quoit players came back to raise choruses and to fling uncurbed jokes that angered Ted Douglas. He got to his feet, speaking curtly:
"I'm goin' out to the river downs arter keas. Any on you comin' along?"
Ike stifled a yawn and raised himself by sections. He was bone-weary, as every hand on Mains had a right to be. But when a man does not give jealousy he usually gives adora- tion to the other of his own age and rank who has distanced him.
"I am, Ted. Wait till I gits my gun."
Steve had seen Ike sluicing the rust out of his old single-barrel the evening before, and he growled distinct warning until the tread of feet ceased to echo on the warm earth where he lay.
Past the woolshed gates the two fell on ScanneU with his clever little 303 in his arm- pit. Not age nor sorrow of soul could kill
