Jim looked at Flora in amused embarrassment, and old Hercules saw it. He sat back in his chair and chuckled derisively.
"She be easier on the eye to goggle at nor her gran'pas," he said, ignoring old Archie. "She gits her looks from the Ducats, as ye kin see. But ye'll find more divil nor gentility in her afore ye've knowed her much longer."
"Grandpa Ducat always talks like that after he's lost at cards," explained the girl, seeing Jim's embarrassment. "I guess Grandpa McKim's been trimming him this afternoon."
"Yer dead right!" said old Archie. "I took eighty-six cents offen 'im since dinner."
Mark lay down until supper was ready. Upon his return to the kitchen he said that he felt as spry as ever. He didn't look exactly right, however. His nose was swollen, his lower lip was puffed and cut and one cheek was skinned and bruised. Peter and Sam Ducat arrived home from burning brush in the back pasture within a minute of Mark's reappearance. Mark made the introductions.
"This here's Jim Todhunter, the Yankee dood who's livin' with the Hammonds," he said.
The three shook hands heartily. Then Peter Ducat stared at his son, stepped closer and stared again.
"What the jumpin' tarnation hev you been hammerin' with yer face?" he asked.
"Jim's fists," answered Mark. "I hammered them real hard, but I didn't do 'em much hurt, I guess."
Then he repeated the story of the fight, without dissembling. His father and his uncle listened with keen attention, glancing frequently from the speaker to the silent guest, their tanned faces and dark eyes expressive of changing emotions.