"Dick he vent to the field down to see how the alfalfa vas, then he came running like a mad man. He scolded Fräulein Charley like it vas her fault, then he ran to the corral, hitched up and vent."
"But didn't you try to stop him?" demanded Roger.
"Not Fräulein Charley. She just sat on the step and little Felicia on her lap and say nothing. But I vent to the corral to talk to Dick and he told me to go to hell. He vas a mad man, I tell you. Now I go milk."
Charley, at the sound of voices, came out to the steps. "Hello, Uncle Otto," she called. The men looked up at her. Her tanned cheeks were flushed, her fine square shoulders were tense. But her voice was gay:
"Have you and Mr. Moore had your duel?"
"It's postponed," replied Crazy Dutch.
Felicia scrambled past her sister and ran down to Roger: "Dick went away mad," she exclaimed. "He scolded Charley and me awful and made me cry. I hate to cry. It hurts my insides so."
Charley had joined them now. "Poor Dick!" she said. "That alfalfa field was dearer to him than any of you know. He'll cool down by the time he reaches Archer's and brings back more seed. Why can't you all stay to supper here?"
"It's too much trouble for you," protested Ernest, weakly.
"You can all help," said Charley. "Please all stay." Something in the eagerness of her low voice touched Roger as it did the other men.