"You don't need to say a word. It's fixed."
For some moments no other word was spoken. There was awkwardness. But it was with Jeff alone. He feared the result of what he must tell.
"You're—packing?" he said presently.
Bud sat himself heavily into a rocker.
"Yep. Lestways I don't guess Nan 'ud call it that way." He raked his curly iron-gray hair with his strong fingers, and gazed ruefully at the chaos.
"Maybe I can help some."
Bud shook his head, and his smile was good.
"Guess one darn fool's enough playin' this game. When're you coming along to—home?"
"Maybe a week."
The reply was prompt.