"My—my scout suit," added Johnnie, who was too worn out to weep.
"The priceless brute!" announced Father Pat.
"Yes, and all of Johnnie's books, he burned them, too," Cis added.
But One-Eye's mind dwelt upon the uniform. "He put it in the stove!" he drawled. "That khaki outfit I give t' the boy! He burned it! And it fresh outen the store!"
"The medal, too, One-Eye! Johnnie's father's medal! It was in the coat. So all that's left is the shoes!"
"All that's left is the shoes," growled One-Eye. "He burned the hat, and the coat, and—and all. After I'd paid good money fer 'em! The gall! The cheek! The impydence!" He drew a prodigious breath.
"Go ahead! Sing about it!" taunted Barber.
One-Eye was in anything but a singing mood. Spurred by that taunt, of a sudden he began to do several startling things: with a gurgle of rage, he snatched off the wide hat, flung it to the floor with all his might, sprang upon it, ground it into the boards with both heels; jerked off his gauntlets and hurled them down with the hat; next wriggled out of his coat and added it to the pile under his boots; then ran his hands wildly through his hair, so that it stood up as straight as the hair on his breeches stood out; and, last of all, fell to pushing back his sleeves.
Fascinated the others watched him. Was this the good-natured, shy, bashful, quiet One-Eye, this red-faced, ramping, stamping madman?
He addressed Barber: "Oh, y' ornery, mean, low-down, sneakin' coyote!" He took a long, leaping step over the things on the floor—a step in the direction of the longshoreman. As he sprang, he shifted his tobacco quid from one cheek to the other. "Say! I'm plumb chuck-full o' y'r goin's-on! I'm stuffed with y'r fool pre-form-ances! I'm fed up t' the neck with 'em! and sick o' 'em! and right here, and now, you and me is a-goin' t' have this business O-U-T!"
