"Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here summers for a good many years. Just so!"
"I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say.
"Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows 'round here?"
"I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him.
"Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?"
"Not at all. I'm immune."
"It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and itchier than ever."
"I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated.
"And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?"
"Not in the least."