“Hello!” replied the assistant, shortly. He had been thinking once more, and his thoughts were not pleasant.
“I s'pose you cal'late,” began Atkins, “that maybe I've got a grudge against you on account of this mornin' and that 'Balm' and such. I ain't.”
“That's good. I'm glad to hear it.”
“Yes. After the fust dose of that stuff—for thunder sakes WHAT did you put in it?—I was about ready to murder you, but I've got over that. I don't blame you for gettin' even. We are even, you know.”
“I'm satisfied, if you are.”
“I be. But what I don't understand is why you didn't want to show them folks around.”
“Oh, I don't know. I had my reasons, such as they were. Why didn't you want to do it yourself?”
Seth crossed his legs and was silent for a moment or two. Then he spoke firmly and as if his mind was made up.
“Young feller,” he said, “I don't know whether you realize it or not, and perhaps I shouldn't be the one to mention it—but you're under some obligations to me.”
His companion nodded. “I realize that,” he said.