“Looks like somebudy’s been high-gradin’ this here pie.”
The criticism might have touched even a mild-tempered cook; it made a demon of Bertha. She started around the table with the obvious intention of doing Smaltz bodily harm, but at the moment, Porcupine Jim, whose roving eye had been searching the table for more food, lighted upon one of the special dishes set before Jennings’ plate.
It looked like rice pudding with raisins in it! If there was one delicacy which appealed to James’s palate more than another it was rice pudding with raisins in it. He arose from the bench in all the pristine splendor of the orange-colored cotton undershirt in which he worked and dined, and reached for the pudding. It was a considerable distance and he was unable to reach it by merely stretching himself over the table, so James, unhampered by the rules of etiquette prescribed by a finical Society, put his knee on the table and buried his thumb in the pudding as he dragged it toward him by the rim.
Without warning he sat down so hard and so suddenly that his feet flew up and kicked the table underneath.
“Leggo!” he gurgled.
For answer Bertha took another twist around the stout neck-band of his orange undergarment.
“I’ll learn you rough-necks some manners!” she panted. “I’ll git the respect that’s comin’ to a lady if I have to clean out this here camp!”
“You quit, now!” He rolled a pair of wild, beseeching eyes around the table. “Somebudy take her off!”
“Coward—to fight a woman!” She fell back with a section of James’s shirt in one hand, with the other reaching for his hair.
He clapped the crook of his elbow over his ear and started to slide under the table when the special Providence that looks after Swedes intervened. A long, plump, shining bull-snake took that particular moment to slip off one of the log beams and bounce on the bride’s head.