"And now for your news, Bat," he said, like a man anticipating a pleasant continuation of his own good news.
Bat shook his head decidedly.
"No," he said, in his brusque fashion. "Not to-night, boy. Guess I ain't got a thing to tell to match your stuff. We just carried on, and we've worked big. We're in good shape for the darn scrap with the Skandinavia you told me about. Guess I'll hand you my stuff to-morrow, when I'm goin' to show you things. This night's your night—sure."
His twinkling eyes were full of kindly regard, for all the brusqueness of his denial. And Bull smiled back his content.
"Well, it's your 'hand' Bat," he said easily. "You'll play it your way."
His eyes turned to the comforting stove again, as the howl of the storm outside shook the framing of the house.
Presently the other raised a pair of smiling eyes.
"You know, boy," the lumberman said, ejecting a worn-out chew of tobacco, "all this means one mighty big thing your way. You see, you got life before you. Maybe I've years to run, too. But it ain't the same. No," he shook his grizzled head, "you can't never make nuthin' of me but a lumber-boss. You'll never be a thing but a college-bred fighter all your life. There's a third share in this thing for both of us. Well, that's goin' to be one a' mighty pile. I was wonderin'. Shall you quit? Shall you cut right out with the boodle? What'll you do?"
Bull sat up and laughed. And his answer came on the instant.
"Why, marry," he said.