“Aw, shut up.”
Having raised the wheel, the worker almost dislocated a lung trying to loosen the rim.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll break it?” purred Poppy.
“I’ll break your neck if you don’t shut up.”
The rim loosening suddenly, sweaty-face landed on the back of his neck in the dusty road. But he was up like a flash.
“If you laugh,” he screeched, grabbing a hammer, “I’ll soak you.”
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” says Poppy as sober as a deacon. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Smarty’s eyes didn’t lose any of their hatred.
“If it’s time for you to go,” he shoved out, “don’t let me detain you.”
“I was just wondering,” says Poppy earnestly, “if I could get you to haul my barrel to town for me.”