'Hev ye jes' fund that out?' drawled the man on the ground, with a jeering inflection.
'W-w-w-whyn't ye lie low, Rick?' demanded Pete aggressively. 'Ef ever thar war a empty cymblin', it's yer head. Amos an' that thar thin-lipped sneak ez called hisself a dep'ty air thick'n thieves.'
There was no hesitation in Amos James's character. He leaned forward suddenly and clutched Pete by the throat, and the old man and Solomon were fain to interfere actively to prevent that doughty member of the family from being throttled on the spot.
Pending the interchange of these amenities, Rick Tyler lay motionless on the ground; Ab calmly continued his task of replenishing the fire; and Ben asked, in a low monotone, the favour of leaving the furnace-door open for a 'spell, whilst I unkiver the kag in the corner, an' fill the jug, an' kiver the kag agin keerful, 'kase I don't want no rat in mine.'
When Pete, with a scarlet face and starting eyes and a throat full of complicated coughs and gurgles, was torn out of the young miller's strong hands, old Groundhog Cayce remonstrated:
'Lord A'mighty, boys! Can't ye set an' drink yer liquor sociable, 'thout clinchin' that-a-way? What did Pete do ter ye, Amos?'
'Nuthin'; he dassent,' said the panting Amos.
'Did he hurt yer feelin's?' asked the old man with respectful sympathy.
'Yes, he did,' said Amos, admitting vulnerability in that tender æsthetic organ.
'Never none—now—koo—koo!' coughed Pete. 'He hev got no f-f-f-feelin's, koo—koo! I hev hearn his own m-mam say so a-many a time.'