"Your what?"
"My chum. We hit it off together pretty well for the last year or so; for Dade—that's his name—is a corker. Never mind the details, and the facts concerning the precise nature of our little difficulty wouldn't interest you; but we got into a high old scrape, and were both expelled from school. When I found Dade's old man was going to send him to Wyndham, I put it up to my sire to let me go there also, but he got wise and chose this corner of the map for mine. You know, he came from here originally."
"I didn't know it."
"Yes, moved out of this tomb nearly thirty years ago. But he knew what it was like, and I presume he fancied I'd be good and safe down here, where there's absolutely nothing doing. Hence, here I am. Pity my woes."
"Oh, well, perhaps you might stir up something around here, if you tried hard enough," said Hooker. "If you took an interest in baseball——"
"What good would that do me, with your dearly-beloved friend, Roger Eliot, choosing his favorites for the team? Besides, I don't think I'd care to play if I could with a bunch that had a cow-puncher for a slab artist."
"You've got a grudge against Grant. You don't like him."
"Great discernment," laughed Rackliff, with a hollow cough that sent little puffs of smoke belching from his lips. "Confidentially, I'll own up that I'm not stuck on him."
"I'm with you. I don't go around blowing about it, but I haven't any use for that specimen from the cow country."
"He seems to be very popular, especially with the girls," murmured Rackliff. "Now there's only one girl in this town that strikes me as something outside the milkmaid class. Lela Barker is it—in italics. Still, I'm going to admit that I don't think her taste and discernment is all it should be. Of course, she's naturally grateful to Grant for that bath he took on her account, but that's no reason why she should hand me the frosty."