“Produce the gentleman and I’ll reply.”
The physician’s dislike of the nuisances was so strong that he could not pretend to hide it. Sharp words might have been followed by something regrettable, had not the wife come out at this moment bearing a couple of enormous ham sandwiches. The men again doffed their fragmentary hats, bowed and mumbled their thanks.
“There’s the gentleman,” said Biggs, nodding toward the smiling woman and addressing her husband, “which you was saying you would like to see. These be fine sandwiches and will sarve us very well for starters.”
“That’s what they are meant to do,” said the doctor; “you may start at once and need not show yourselves here again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Biggs, speaking with his mouth stuffed full of meat and bread; “I reckon you don’t own the lake and this part of the State.”
“I own enough to warn you to keep your distance; we choose our friends.”
“Mebbe we may take a notion to drop in on ye bime by; with thanks, mum, we now sagaciate.”
Dr. Spellman was a man of quick temper, and felt so incensed by the smirking glance of the scamp at his wife, that he bounded from his hammock and into the house for his revolver. Suspecting his purpose, his wife interposed:
“What are you going to do, Wilson?”
“Shoot that scoundrel! Let me get my pistol.”