"I s'pose you think folks have nothing to do but talk about you now.
You're a long way out!"—was the careless answer.
"What did you say I said?" said Reuben.
"I never heard you say anything, as I know, that was worth tellin' over. When I do, I'll let somebody know it, I tell you."
"I suppose that means that you won't answer my question," said Reuben.
"What I want to know is, not what I said, but what you say I said."
"About what?"
"About Miss Faith Derrick."
"I don't say you said nothing about her—I never heard you call her name, as I know."
"Like enough," said Reuben, with a sort of resolute patience; "but what did you say I said that had to do with her in any way?"
"Who do you think you air?" said Phil.
"I tell you what, Phil Davids," said Sam Stoutenburgh, who had heard the last question or two, "if you don't keep your tongue off Miss Derrick, I'll pitch you up into a pine tree so far that you'll see stars before you come down—or I'm not Stoutenburgh nor stout, neither!" and Sam—who was a little of a young giant—backed Phil up against the tree that was nearest in a sort of preparatory way that was rather breathless. Phil however was as tough as shoe leather.