“Say, whatcha mean by that?” snarled Bill.
“I mean ye was brought up into a hawg-pen an’ that’s where ye belong!” flared Eb. “That plain ’nough for ye?”
It was. Bill started for the old man. But Douglas stepped between them. He said nothing; he only looked. Bill liked the look so ill that he slowed, then stopped.
“An’ after ye’ve shook hands with yer brothers ye can come an’ go all over the house, like ye was goin’ to when ye got s’picious an’ follered Hampton down here,” jeered Eb. “I don’t let pigs into my house as a gin’ral thing, but——”
“That’ll be about enough of that!” Ward broke in. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.”
“—But this once, I’ll do it, seein’ ye’ve gone so fur now,” Uncle Eb continued, ignoring him. “I can air out the house when ye’re gone. Hurry up now. Look under the beds an’ into the oven an’ all—an’ then git often my land an’ stay off!”
The two looked keenly at him for a full half-minute.
“Since you’re so willing, we won’t,” announced Ward. Bill nodded sulkily, looking again around the barn. Ward rubbed his jowl and spat on the floor.
“What d’you make of it, Bill?” he puzzled.
“Somebody lied!” was the morose answer.