"I'm sorry to see you act that way, John," Cavanaugh deplored, as the buggy disappeared down the road. "I know the reason of it, I reckon, but still you went a bit too far. It is give and take in a game like the one you and this chap are playing, and if you don't want to lose, you'd better be careful."
John stared, still angry. "I've got no use for him," he sniffed. "He looks like a jack-leg preacher or a mountain singing-teacher, bowing and scraping and holding his hat in his hand before two men. He has no backbone. He is as yellow as a pumpkin, and ought to have that long hair of his parted in the middle and tied in a knot behind his head."
"I know, but he looks honest and straight, and he is dead in love. That's one reason he's so timid, even with us. It works that way with some men. You are different. It makes a wild man of you, especially when the fair one is looked at by somebody else. But you've got to hold in. This fellow has got prior rights to you in this deal, and if you are too rough it may go against you. I don't say it will, but it may."
CHAPTER XI
John was about to make some retort when Tilly suddenly came out to them. She was dressed in white, wore no head-covering, and appeared very pretty and somehow changed.
"Oh, you are all ready to go!" she said, smiling on John. "Here is something for you to wear." She held out a few leaves of geranium and a white rosebud and proceeded to pin them on the lapel of his coat. "It is the custom," she explained. "All the girls give them to the young men they go with. Now, now, isn't that nice, Mr. Cavanaugh?"
"Fine! Beautiful! It sets him off just right!" the old man cried.
John looked pleased, but said nothing.
"Why don't he thank the little trick?" Cavanaugh wondered, resentfully. "And why don't the goose stand up?"