“I reckon that's what the court allowed,” said Abner simply.
Mr. Byers stared. Then after a moment's pause he nodded with a significant yet relieved face. “Yes, I see, in course. Times when you'd h'isted too much o' this corn juice,” lifting up his glass, “inside ye—ye sorter bu'st out ravin'?”
But Abner shook his head. “I wuz a total abstainer in them days,” he said quietly.
Mr. Byers got unsteadily on his legs and looked around him. “Wot might hev bin the general gait o' your temper, pardner?” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Don't know. I reckon that's jest whar the incompatibility kem in.”
“And when she hove plates at your head, wot did you do?”
“She didn't hove no plates,” said Abner gravely; “did she say she did?”
“No, no!” returned Byers hastily, in crimson confusion. “I kinder got it mixed with suthin' else.” He waved his hand in a lordly way, as if dismissing the subject. “Howsumever, you and her is 'off' anyway,” he added with badly concealed anxiety.
“I reckon: there's the decree,” returned Abner, with his usual resigned acceptance of the fact.
“Mrs. Byers wuz allowin' ye wuz thinkin' of a second. How's that comin' on?”