"I don't know," Lyman replied. "I never tried it."
"I have," said Caruthers, looking at him.
Lyman laughed and rubbed his hands together. "You are the only one that has ever insinuated such a compliment, if you mean that I am a saint. But I hold that there's quite a stretch between a saint and a man who has a desire simply to be honest. Saint—" He laughed again. "Why, the people where I was brought up called me a rake."
"They were angels. But why don't you say where you were 'raised.' Why do you say 'brought up?' You were not brought up; you were raised."
"Yes, that's true, I guess. But we raised vegetables where I was brought up."
"Cabbages?"
"Yes, some cabbages. Round about here, though, they appear to make pumpkins more of a specialty. But come a little nearer with your meaning concerning the saint. I take it that you are tired of the partnership. Am I right?"
"Well," Caruthers spoke up, "we haven't done anything and we have no prospects."
"You are right," said Lyman. "But I am poorer and you are about as well off as you were."
"Do you mean to insinuate—"