“Nothing of the sort,” said Peter indignantly. “You ain't no sort of example to set the boy. I heard you swear this morning when Buddy stuck a fork into you to wake you up. No man that uses words like you used is the sort of man I want Buddy to be with.”
Booge grinned. There was no use in rebutting such an accusation. Indeed, he felt he had no call to argue with Peter. Day after to-morrow was a distant future for a man who had lately lived from one meal to the next. Booge believed Buddy would be the final dictator in the matter, and he was sure of Buddy now.
“So I guess you'll have to go,” continued Peter. “For a tramp you ain't been so bad, but it crops out on you every once in awhile, and it's liable to crop out strong any time. If it wasn't for the boy I'd let you stay until the ice goes out. I'd got just about to the point where I wasn't no better than a tramp myself, but when—but I've changed, and I'm going to change more.”
Booge nodded an assent.
“I can almost notice a change myself,” he said, “but the way you 're going to change ain't a marker to the way I'm goin' to change. I've been planning what I'd change into ever since I come here. I ain't quite decided whether to be an angel cherub, like you—or a bank president. I sort of lean to being a bank president. Whiskers look better on a bank president than on an angel cherub, but if you think I'd better be an angel cherub, I'll shave up—and make a stab at—”
“You might as well be serious, my mind's made up,” said Peter coldly. “You got to go.”
“Suppose,” said Booge slowly, “I was to withdraw out of this here uncle competition and leave it all to you? Suppose I let on I lost my singin' voice?”
“No use!” said Peter firmly. “My mind's settled on that question. The longer you stay the harder it'll be to get you to go. I'm givin' you 'til day after to-morrow because I've got' to go up to town to-morrow. We 're shy on food. If it wasn't for that I'd start you off to-morrow.”
“Now, suppose I stop bein' Uncle Booge. Say I start bein' Gran'pa Booge, or Aunt Booge,” proposed Booge gravely. “I'll get a gingham apron and a caliker dress—”
“You'll get nothin' but out,” said Peter firmly. “You'll be nothin' but away from here.”