Jealousy is about as reasonable as lightning; it is fully as deadly, and often much more unexpected. And because Biscuit Westfall's mother's brother-in-law (who was a farmer with a fine woodlot) when bringing in the annual Christmas tree for Biscuit, had also brought one for Nancy Guilford's Christmas party, he had aroused Sube's groundless jealousy of Biscuit to the striking point.
Biscuit cared nothing for Nancy; he had a lady love of his own. Of course he was polite to Nancy, but he was polite to every lady. And Nancy cared nothing for Biscuit. She had found him useful in her scheme of life, and had accordingly made use of him. But she loved him not. However, as far as the Christmas tree was concerned she was innocent of using him even as an exciter. He had offered the tree, and she had taken it.
Somewhere Sube had learned the history of the tree, and when he saw it he shook his head dubiously. "Pretty punk, isn't it?" he asked. "Is that the best you could get?"
"Uh huh, the very best," Nancy emphatically assured him.
"Why didn't you let me get you a tree?" he demanded. "I'd 'ave got you one a hundred times better'n that."
"Oo—oo! Could you, honest?"
"Could I!"
"Will you do it?"
"Will I? Half a dozen if you want 'em."
Nancy assured him that one was all she could possibly use, and thereupon he obtained his ax and set out to conquer the forest. But he soon found that Biscuit's uncle Peter had spoken the truth when he said that good Christmas trees were scarce. They were; decidedly scarce. The few that had come through the dry fall without unwithered limbs had already been hewn by the early tree-hunters. And Sube was hard to please.