"I guess"—she strangled over her emotions—"I guess—it's more like—a flight inter Egypt—than—than—a birthday party."
"Get up, Bet!" Tate was routed by the event. Finally he said slowly, "See here, old woman, I'm going to look inter that—baby boot, and don't you forget it. This ain't no time and place maybe, but Tate's going to have his senses onter any job that takes his possessions for granted. Give me—that flannel boot."
"Tate—I can't."
"Can't, hey?"
"Well then"—and the declaration of independence rang out—"I won't!"
"What!" Brown Betty leaped under the lash.
"It don't belong to me."
"Do you know who owns it?"
"I can—guess."
"Guess then, by thunder!"