Y.D. exploded in somewhat ineffective profanity. He had a wide vocabulary of invective, but most of it was of the stand-and-fight variety. There is some language which is not to be used, unless you are willing to have it out on the ground, there and then. Y.D. had no such desire. Possibly a curious sense of honor entered into the case. It was not fair to call a young man names, and although there was considerable truth in Grant’s remark that Y.D. was a bully, his bullying did not take that form. Possibly, also, he recalled at that moment the obligation under which Zen’s accident had placed him. At any rate he wound up rather lamely.
“Grant,” he said, “if I want that hay next year I’ll cut it, spite o’ hell an’ high water.”
“All right, Y.D.,” said Grant, cheerfully. “We’ll see. Now, if you can spare me a horse to ride home, I’ll have him sent back immediately.”
Y.D. went to find Transley and arrange for a horse, and in a moment Zen appeared from somewhere.
“You’ve been quarreling with Dad,” she said, half reproachfully, and yet in a tone which suggested that she could understand.
“Not exactly that,” he parried. “We were just having a frank talk with each other.”
“I know something of Dad’s frank talks... I’m sorry... I would have liked to ask you to come and see me—to see us—my mother would be glad to see you. I can hardly ask you to come if you are going to be bad friends with Dad.”
“No, I suppose not,” he admitted.
“You were very good to me; very—decent,” she continued.
At that moment Transley, Linder, and Y.D. appeared, with two horses.