"Here, you!" cried the boy. "You quit that—afore my new pop takes you by the neck and the—pants and sits on you!"
"That's the idea, son. Only next time, jest tell him without cussin'."
"He always cusses the hosses," said Young Pete. "Everybody cusses 'em."
"'Most everybody. But a man what cusses a hoss is only cussin' hisself. You're some young to git that—but mebby you'll recollect I said so, some day."
"Didn't you cuss him when you set on him?" queried Pete.
"For why, son?"
"Wa'n't you mad?"
"Shucks, no."
"Don't you ever cuss?"
"Not frequent, son. Cussin' never pitched any hay for me."