“I don’t know,” said Mark. “I did nothing. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” replied Dean. “He was as jolly and smiling as could be till last night; and see how he helped about the scare. Now, I tell you what I think.”
“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t think so much,” cried Mark. “It makes you seem so slow and sleepy! Well, what do you think?”
“I think he is jealous of the new man.”
“Right. He doesn’t like the look of him—thinks he’s a bad colour, neither black nor white. You are right, Dean. I saw him scowling at him, now you mention it. Well, we shall have to look out and tell Buck Denham that there must be no quarrelling. If they don’t agree he must take them both by the scruff and knock their heads together.”
“Oh, but that will all blow over,” said Dean, “I daresay. There’s nothing for them to disagree over, because this Brown will have his own work to do.”
“And black Mak has nothing to do but look on,” put in Mark, laughing.
“You forget one thing,” said Dean; “he has to carry his spear.”
“Yes, spear,” said Mark eagerly; “and that sets one thinking. That spear is precious sharp.”
“How do you know?”