“So your sister doesn't like me, Tom—that's on your mind this morning, is it?” Murrell was saying, as he watched his friend out of the corner of his eyes.
“She was mad enough, the way you pushed in on us at Boggs' yesterday. What happened back in North Carolina, Murrell, anyhow?”
“Never you mind what happened.”
“Well, it's none of my business, I reckon; she'll have to look out for herself, she's nothing to me but a pest sand a nuisance—I've been more bothered since she came back than I've been in years! I'd give a good deal to be rid of her,” said Ware, greatly depressed as he recalled the extraordinary demands Betty had made.
“Make it worth my while and I'll take her off your hands,” and Murrell laughed.
Tom favored him with a sullen stare.
“You'd better get rid of that notion—of all fool nonsense, this love business is the worst! I can't see the slightest damn difference between one good looking girl and another. I wish every one was as sensible as I am,” he lamented. “I wouldn't miss a meal, or ten minutes' sleep, on account of any woman in creation,” and Ware shook his head.
“So your sister doesn't like me?”
“No, she doesn't,” said Ware, with simple candor.
“Told you to put a stop to my coming here?”