Dennis made no motion to take the proffered hand. "Yes," he said, "she's thar, and she's waitin' for ye."
His manner was so unusual, so withdrawn, that Sylv was surprised, and let his right arm fall to his side.
"Why, what's the trouble?" he asked. "You're not like yourself, Dennie. You are dispirited."
"Anybody could see that," answered the senior in a surly tone, "without those thar long words. Yes, I am sort o' down; I'm out o' gear. That's the fact."
"Well, let's go along to the cabin," Sylv proposed, throwing into his words a soothing tenderness as unconscious as that of a woman's voice. "Whatever's ailing, we'll consult over it there."
"No," said his brother, refusing to stir. "I want to talk to you hyar."
"I'm downright tired," Sylv objected, mildly. "I've been walking so long. I made a good trade, though, Dennie. See here."
He laid his books down in the road, and put his hand into his pocket. Then he withdrew it suddenly, looking alarmed, and began to search another pocket. Dennis waxed visibly impatient. Finally, plunging into a third receptacle, Sylv brought to light five silver dollars. "That's what I got!" he exclaimed, triumphantly.
"That all!" cried Dennis. "Oh, I knowed it, I knowed it! And those thar books—you worked shares on 'em."
"Yes, I found I could get those, too," said Sylv, with honest exultation.