“You can’t have her,” persisted Joe.
“We’ll see about that, too,” said Morgan, his manner and voice threatening. “What’re you goin’ to do–pole off and tell the old man?”
“I’ll do what Isom left me here to do, the rest of the time he’s away,” said Joe. “Ollie shan’t leave the house tonight.”
“Yes, you flat-bellied shad, you want her yourself–you’re stuck on her yourself, you fool! Yes, and you’ve got just about as much show of gittin’ her as I have of jumpin’ over that tree!” derided Morgan.
“No matter what I think of her, good or bad, she’d be safe with me,” Joe told him, searching his face accusingly.
“Yes, of course she would!” scoffed Morgan. “You’re one of these saints that’ll live all your life by a punkin and never poke it with your finger. Oh, yes, I know your kind!”
“I’m not going to quarrel with you, Morgan, unless you make me,” said Joe; “but you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I don’t want her, not the way you do, anyhow.”
Morgan looked at him closely, then put out his hand with a gesture of conciliation.
“I’ll take that back, Joe,” said he. “You’re not that kind of a kid. You mean well, but you don’t understand. Look-a here, let me tell you, Joe: I love that little woman, kid, just as honest and true as any man could love her, and she thinks the world and all of me. I only want to take her away from here because I love her and want to make her happy. Don’t you see it, kid?”
“How would you do that? You couldn’t marry her.”