“Huh, huh,” said Tim, “everybody's pokin' fun at him, and he hates that, and ever since the picnic, too, he hates you.”
“But why in the world?”
“Oh, shucks!” said Tim, impatient at Cameron's density. “I guess you know all right.”
“Know? Not I!”
“Git out?”
“Honor bright, Tim,” replied Cameron, sitting up. “Now, honestly, tell me, Tim, why in the world Perkins should hate me.”
“You put his nose out of joint, I guess,” said Tim with a grin.
“Oh, rot, Tim! How?”
“Every how,” said Tim, proceeding to elaborate. “First when you came here you were no good—I mean—” Tim checked himself hastily.
“I know what you mean, Tim. Go on. You are quite right. I couldn't do anything on the farm.”