“Well, what of it?”
“Nuthin’—she’s good-lookin’—for a path-master,” said the warden, with a vicious leer intended for a compliment.
“What of it?” demanded Byram, harshly.
“Be you fixin’ to splice with that there girl some day?” asked the game-warden, jocosely.
“What of it?” repeated Byram, with an ugly stare.
“Oh,” said the warden, hastily, “I didn’t know nothin’ was goin’ on; I wasn’t meanin’ to rile nobody.”
“Oh, you wasn’t, wasn’t you?” said Byram, in a rage. “Now you can jest git your pa’tridges by yourself an’ leave me to git my road-tax. I’m done with you.”
“How you do rile up!” protested the warden. “How was I to know that you was sweet on your path-master when folks over to Spencers say she’s sweet on Dan McCloud—”
“It’s a lie!” roared young Byram.