“Ain't you going home?” asked Hiram.
“Not jest yet; I've some thinkin' to do. I don't take much stock in fightin' but I'd like to punch Abner Stiles' head.”
“What's he been doing?”
“Why, didn't you hear what he said he said to that crazy fellow about Sawyer getting the best of me at my own game?”
“Wall, he told the truth, didn't he, Strout?”
“Look here, Mr. Hiram Maxwell, I want you to understand that if we are to continue together as partners in this 'ere grocery business, there must be mutual respect atween us.”
“Wall,” said Hiram, “I s'pose you mean by that, that ef I ain't what you consider respec'ful to you, you'll get out and leave me the business. You see, Obadiah, it's not for you or me to say who'll stay in—that's for the trustees. So, I wouldn't lay down the law too fine, Obadiah.”
“Wall, I hoped,” said Strout, “that when that Sawyer married 'Zeke Pettingill's sister and left this town that we'd be able to have a little peace round here and run things our own way. Course, I don't want any man to get drowned, but it wasn't my fault that the ship he was on ran into another. He was allus runnin' into somethin' that didn't concern him. But bein' he's gone, and no blame can be laid at my door, I thought we'd heard the last of him, but since he's died the air's fuller of Sawyer than it was afore. It makes me sick the way everybody tumbles over themselves to make of that boy of his'n. I don't think there's much to him.”
“He's got a big head, an' he's a mighty bright little fellow,” said Hiram.
“Wall, then he resembles his father in one respect—he had a big head.”