"You will probably tell her the first idiotic thing that comes into the back part of your head. And if you tell her anything pifflous about me I'll lay for you some dark night with a pick handle."
Grislow laughed reminiscently. "She won't ask," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because the last time she did it I told her your scalp was dangling at Miss Genevieve's belt."
They had reached the door of the log-built quarters and Brouillard spun the jester around with a shoulder grip that was only half playful.
"If I believed you said any such thing as that I'd murder you!" he exploded. "Perhaps you'll go and tell her that—you red-headed blastoderm!"
"Sure," said the blastoderm, and they went apart, each to his dunnage kit.