Ruth faced his brother.
“What's your little game? Do you mean to say you don't know what thet gal is? Do you mean to say you don't know thet she's the laughing-stock of the Ferry; thet her father's a d——d old fool, and her mother's a drunkard and worse; thet she's got any right to be hanging round yer? You can't mean to marry her, even if you kalkilate to turn me out to do it, for she wouldn't live alone with ye up here. 'Tain't her kind. And if I thought you was thinking of—”
“What?” said Ruth, turning upon his brother quickly.
“Oh, thet's right! holler; swear and yell, and break things, do! Tear round!” continued Rand, kicking his boots off in a corner, “just because I ask you a civil question. That's brotherly,” he added, jerking his chair away against the side of the cabin, “ain't it?”
“She's not to blame because her mother drinks, and her father's a shyster,” said Ruth earnestly and strongly. “The men who make her the laughing-stock of the Ferry tried to make her something worse, and failed, and take this sneak's revenge on her. 'Laughing-stock!' Yes, they knew she could turn the tables on them.”
“Of course; go on! She's better than me. I know I'm a fratricide, that's what I am,” said Rand, throwing himself on the upper of the two berths that formed the bedstead of the cabin.
“I've seen her three times,” continued Ruth.
“And you've known me twenty years,” interrupted his brother.
Ruth turned on his heel, and walked towards the door.
“That's right; go on! Why don't you get the chalk?”