Emma tried to stop Jim, but he shook her off and continued to walk back and forth behind the horses munching on quietly, unconscious of any dispute about their value.
Bill sat on the oat box in his hulking way, his heels thumping a tune, his small gray eyes watching the angry man.
"Don't make a darn fool of yourself," he said placidly.
Jim turned, glad of the chance for a row, "You better keep out of this."
Bill continued to thump, the palms of his big hands resting on the edge of the box. "I'm in it," he said conclusively.
"Well, you git out of it! I ain't goin' to be bulldozed—that ain't what I come here for."
"No, I see it ain't," said Bill. "If you're after a row you can have it right here. You won't find a better place."
"There, there," urged the Deacon. "What's the use? Keep cool and don't tear your shirts."
Mrs. Gray went up to Jim and took him by the arm. "You need a good spankin' to make you good-natured," she said. "I think the Deacon has done first rate, and you ought 'o—"
"Let go o' me," he snarled, raising his hand as if to strike her.