“But you can’t expect a blind man to be the essence of amiability,” said Tresler. “Think of his condition.”
“See here, young feller,” jerked in Shaky, thrusting his chin-beard forward aggressively. “Condition ain’t to be figgered on when a man keeps a great hulkin’, bulldozin’ swine of a foreman like Jake Harnach. Say, them two, the blind skunk an’ Jake, ken raise more hell in five minutes around that ranch than a tribe o’ neches on the war-path. I built a barn on that place last summer, an’ I guess I know.”
“Comforting for me,” observed Tresler, with a laugh.
“Oh, you ain’t like to git his rough edge,” put in Carney, easily.
“Guess you’re payin’ a premium?” asked Shaky.
“I’m going to have three years’ teaching.”
“Three years o’ Skitter Bend?” said Slum, quietly. “Guess you’ll learn a deal in three years o’ Skitter Bend.”
The little man chewed the end of a cigar Tresler had presented him with, while his twinkling eyes exchanged meaning glances with his comrades. Twirly laughed loudly and backed against the bar, stretching out his arms on either side of him, and gripping its moulded edge with his beefy hands.
“An’ you’re payin’ fer that teachin’?” the butcher asked incredulously, when his mirth had subsided.
“It seems the custom in this country to pay for everything you get,” Tresler answered, a little shortly.