“Whoa, boy, whoa, I tell you! There, there, steady now. Well, you needn’t throw it in my teeth if it was!” retorted the sharpshooter, furiously. “Hang new pants!”
Ninian rolled on the ground and laughed afresh; then feebly observed: “That’s what I generally do with mine. But pockets! What of them?”
“Huh! it’s all very well for you to lie there and snicker. I lost the chance of my life that time. What’s the use of a repertation for hittin’ a pin at the distance I have if you can’t hit a fool when he’s close alongside?”
“Referring to me?” asked the reporter, sweetly.
“Yes, if the coat fits. Drat that pocket!”
“Poor pocket! Who made it?”
“That pesky Sally Benton. The one was in burst right through, and she sewed this one so tight at the top–––Huh! I believe she done it a-purpose.”
“To be sure she did. If I remember correctly that estimable woman was opposed to bloodshed and preferred corporal punishment. I suppose she feared you might do what you attempted to do and–––”
“Shut up your shallow talk, young man!” ordered Ephraim, with so much venom that the other realized his mirth was ill-timed and grew serious.
“What was the thing, anyway, Marsh?”