Tunk sat in sober silence a moment, as if he thought it no proper time for levity.
"I made up my mind," said he, with an injured look, "it wa'n't goin' t' do my character no good t' live there with them ol' maids."
There was a bitter contempt in his voice when he said "ol' maids."
"I'd kind o' like t' draw the ribbons over that mare o' yourn, mister," said Tunk, presently.
"Do you think you could manage her?"
"What!" said Tunk, in a voice of both query and exclamation. "Huh! Don't I look as if I'd been used t' hosses. There ain't a bone in my body that ain't been kicked—some on 'em two or three times. Don't ye notice how I walk? Heavens, man! I hed my ex sprung 'fore I was fifteen!"
Tunk referred often and proudly to this early springing of his "ex," by which he meant probably that horse violence had bent him askew.
"Well, you shall have a chance to drive her," said Trove, spreading his blanket. "But if I'd gone through what you have, I'd keep out of danger."
"I like it," said Tunk, with emphasis. "I couldn't live without it. Danger is a good deal like chawin' terbaccer—dum nasty 'til ye git used to it. Fer me it's suthin' like strawberry short-cake and allwus was. An' nerve, man, why jes' look a' there."
He held out a hand to show its steadiness.