Nora giggled.
“Since I’m foreman I got to be a mother to y’u boys, ain’t I?”
“Y’u’re liable to be a grandmother to us if y’u keep on,” came back the young giant.
“Y’u plumb discourage me, Denver,” sighed the foreman.
“No, sir! The way I look at it, a fellow’s got to take some risk. Now, y’u cayn’t tell some things. I figure I ain’t half so likely to catch pneumony as y’u would be to get heart trouble if y’u went walking with Miss Nora,” returned Denver.
A perfect gravity sat on both their faces during the progress of most of their repartee.
“If your throat’s so bad, Mr. Halliday, I’ll put a kerosene rag round it for you when we get back,” Nora said, with a sweet little glance of sympathy that the foreman did not enjoy.
Denver, otherwise “Mr. Halliday,” beamed. “Y’u’re real kind, ma’am. I’ll bet that will help it on the outside much as Mac’s medicine will inside.”
“What’ll y’u do for my heart, ma’am, if it gits bad the way Denver figures it will?”
“Y’u might try a mustard plaster,” she gurgled, with laughter.