"What's he gone and did now?"
"Always a-buttin' in, Sile Stringer—go ter sleep ag'in," and Dugan walked impatiently to the other end of the porch.
"Neil Prescott crazy?" questioned Sam Randall; "I guess not—he's sharp as a steel trap."
"I'm not talkin' ter the nursery," said Bill Dugan, ungraciously, "but, ter my mind, if ye'd like ter know, he's plumb out of his senses."
"How—in what way?"
"What's he a-buyin' sich stacks of grub for, eh? He's got 'nuff ter last a man six months."
"How d'ye find that out, Bill?" interrupted Tom Sanders.
"The feller he bought 'em of tole me—that's how. An' only yisterday I seen him takin' over a lot more. An' ain't it 'nuff ter make any man laugh ter see the way he handles that boat?"
Old Sile again sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Who—who d'ye mean, Bill Dugan? Handles what boat?" he asked.