“Cartridges, too!” said Swickey. “Soft-point .44’s.”
“Wal, we’ll git thet moose now, sure,” said Avery, examining the rifle.
Curious Jim maintained a dignified silence. When the first joy of opening the box and displaying its contents had evaporated, he arose and shuffled toward the door, pausing mysteriously on the threshold. “You ain’t seen all they is yit,” he said, closing the door and disappearing in the night.
Avery looked at Swickey and she at him. Then they both laughed. “Thet’s Jim’s way,” said Avery.
The teamster returned with two more bundles which he placed on the table. “There they be,” he said, trying vainly to conceal his interest in their contents, “and it’s night before Christmus.”
In his excitement he had overlooked that one of the packages was addressed to him.
Swickey brought the bundles to her father. “You open them, Pop; I opened the other one.”
The old man pulled out his jack-knife and deliberately cut the string on the larger package. A gay red and green lumberman’s jacket lay folded in the paper.
Avery put it on and paraded up and down grandiloquently.
“Whee-oo! Now, who’s puttin’ on style?” said Cameron.