“I guess I won’t want that rig to-night, Billy,” he said, pulling a head of timothy out of a bale of hay that stood near. “I’ll take it to-morro’ night.”
“All right,” said the young fellow, with a smile that Bart did not like. “Girl sick, aigh?”
“No,” said Bart, softly stripping the fuzz off the timothy.
“Well, I guess I understan’,” said Billy, winking one eye, cheerfully. “I’ve b’en there myself. Girls is as much alike ’s peas—sweet-peas”—he interjected with a hearty laugh—“in a pod, the world over. It ain’t never safe for a fellow to come home, after bein’ away a good spell, an’ engage a buggy before findin’ out if the girl ain’t engaged to some other fello’—it ain’t noways safe. I smiled in my sleeve when you walked in so big an’ ordered your’n.”
Bart Winn was slow to anger, but now a dull red came upon his face and neck, and settled there as if burnt into the flesh. His eyes looked dangerous, but he spoke quietly. “I guess you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Billy. I guess you hadn’t best go any furder.”
Billy came slowly toward him, nettled by his tone—by its very calm, in fact. “D’ you mean to say that Laviny Vaiden ain’t goin’ a-salmon-spearin’ to-night with that dandy from New York?”
Bart swallowed once or twice.
“I don’t mean to say anything that’s none o’ your business,” he said.
“Well, she’s been a-spearin’ with him ev’ry night sence the salmon’s b’en a-runnin’, anyway.”
The strong, powerful trembling of a man who is trying to control himself now seized Bart Winn.