"My end will look all right when I get her boarded up," Linton vouchsafed, "but Old Jerry drew the hind quarters." His shoulders heaved in silent amusement.
"'Old' Jerry!" snapped the smaller man. "Where'd you get the 'old' at? I've acted like a feeble-minded idiot, I'll admit—bein' imposed on so regular—but that's over and I'm breathin' free. Wait till you shove off in that front end; it 'ain't got the beam and you'll upset. Ha!" He uttered a malicious bark. "You'll drownd!" Mr. Quirk turned indignant eyes upon the visitors. "The idea of HIM callin' ME 'old.' Can you beat that?"
"Maybe I will drown," Linton agreed, "but drowning ain't so bad. It's better than being picked and pecked to death by a blunt-billed buzzard. I'd look on it as a kind of relief. Anyhow, you won't be there to see it; you'll be dead of rheumatism. I've got the tent."
"Huh! The stove's mine. I'll make out."
"Have you men quarreled after all these years?" the Countess made bold to inquire.
Jerry answered, and it was plain that all sentiment had been consumed in the fires of his present wrath. "I don't quarrel with a dam' old fool; I give him his way."
Linton's smoky eyes were blazing when he cried, furiously: "Cut that 'old' out, or I'll show you something. Your mind's gone—senile decay, they call it—but I'll—"
Quirk flung down his saw and advanced belligerently around the hull of the boat. He was bristling with the desire for combat.
"What'll you show me?" he shrilly challenged. "You're bigger than me, but I'll cut you down: I'll—"
The Countess stepped between the two men, crying, impatiently: