neck. His brown hair was cut close; his cap was fixed with a little tilt toward his ear.
"No call to get your bristles up, that I can see," he said to the man who scorned his opinion on the eyes of Grimmitt's wolf. "I'm not an authority on wolves, but it strikes me that a white one ought to have blue eyes, even if it hasn't."
"You ain't got as many brains in your head as a fishin' worm!"
"Maybe you're right," the sailor admitted, placid and undisturbed by the other's scorn. "I never argue about that."
"A feller that'd wear a rig like you've got on don't know enough to scratch a hog!"
"That's all right now, pardner," said the sailor, turning to the brother of the wolf, a quick flush mounting to his face; "you go light on what you've got to say about this uniform!"
The kinsman of the wolf made a scoffing noise in his big nose.
"You look like a bottle in a sock," he said.
"It don't make any difference how I look, stranger. If this uniform's good enough for Uncle Sam, it's good enough for you, and you've got to respect it!"
Dan Gustin moved a little nearer. What was that about a uniform and Uncle Sam? Well, if Uncle Sam and that kid were partners, Dan was on their side from the jump.
The wolf's kin was looking the sailor up and down, contempt in his long nose, wrinkled in a snarl that was fiercer than the beast's behind the glass.
