“The same.”
“So you are his friend!”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“Yes. I’ve seen him, but he ain’t much to look at. He ain’t my style.”
“I should think not,” passed through Wentworth’s mind, but he was tempted by curiosity to inquire: “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, he’s uppish—puts on frills, and so does his boy. I went round to make a neighborly call, but he told me he didn’t feel like talking, and left me on the outside of the cabin lookin’ like a fool!” and the backwoodsman spat to express his disgust.
“So he seemed to feel above you, did he?”
“Looked like it, but Jake Amsden don’t knuckle down to nobody.”
“Of course not. Why should you?” said Bradley Wentworth.