"You never know," said Mr. Sanders, in commenting on the story, "what a man will do ontell he gits rank pizen mad, or starvin' hongry, or in love."
"What would you do, Mr. Sanders, if you were in love?" Gabriel asked innocently enough.
"Maybe I'd do as Frank does," replied Mr. Sanders, smiling blandly; "shed scaldin' tears one minnit, an' bite my finger-nails the next; maybe I would, but I don't believe it."
"Now, I'll swear you ought not to tell these boys such stuff as that!" exclaimed Francis Bethune angrily. "I don't know about Cephas, but Tolliver doesn't like me any way."
"How do you know?" inquired Gabriel.
"Because you used to make faces at me," replied Bethune, half laughing.
"Why, so did Nan," Gabriel rejoined. "Mine must have been terrible ones for you to remember them so well."
The reference to Nan struck Bethune, and he began to gnaw at the end of his thumb, whereupon Mr. Sanders smiled broadly. The young man reflected a moment and then remarked, his face a trifle redder than usual; "Isn't the young lady old enough for you to call her Miss Dorrington?"
"She is," replied Gabriel; "but if she permits me to call her Nan, why should any one else object?"
There was no answer to this, but presently Bethune turned to Gabriel and said: "Why do you dislike me, Tolliver?"