"No, you won't, Dad," said Douglas quietly, as he buttered a biscuit.
"If you're going to give me back talk, young fellow, you leave the table now, before I lose my temper."
"I'm not giving you any more back talk than you deserve," replied Douglas. "Any man that would threaten to shoot a pup because it howls deserves something more than back talk. Let's forget it. Johnny, how about this stunt of Mother's breaking horses?"
Old Johnny gave John a timid glance. "I don't remember," he muttered.
Mary laughed. "What's the use of a woman breaking horses when she's got a man to do it for her?"
"Did you ever see her break a horse, Johnny?" insisted Doug.
"Once," said the old man, "a lot of the boys tied me on a mule and the mule ran away. It wasn't broke, that mule. Seem like it had run a gregus long way when Mary come along. She was just a walking and she reached up and grabbed the mule and she rode him back with me. And she made them untie me. And I loved her ever since. I came up here every year to see how John is treating her. I depone—"
John rose and, striding around the table, he seized the old man by the collar. Douglas put his hand on his father's arm.
"Drop it, Dad, or I swear I'll think old Johnny is a better man than you. I asked him to tell. Throw me out if you want to. Keep your hands off this little chap. One thing is sure. He appreciates Mother more than any of the rest of us have."
"Get the half-wit out of my sight, then," growled John, returning to his seat.