"I'll—let you off this time," he said judicially.
"Garn! Softie. You can't do anything, you can't! You're a softie!"
"I could cut your head off an' scalp you an' leave you hanging on a tree, I could," he said fiercely, "an' I will, too, if you go on calling me names."
"Softie! Swank! Now cut it off! Go on!"
He looked down at her mocking blue eyes.
"You're jolly lucky I don't start on you," he said threateningly. "Folks I do start on soon get sorry, I can tell you."
"What you do to them?"
He changed the subject abruptly.
"What's your name?" he said.