He gained the chair at last, sat down, crossed his legs and crowned a sharp and bony knee with his hat.
"Yeah," he intoned, pulling one horn of his crescent-shaped mustache. "I come to see you." It never occurred to him to offer to turn the churn-handle for her. In his estimation women were made for the especial comfort and delectation of men. Why put oneself out? Quite so.
Hazel continued to turn the handle in silence.
"Makin' butter?" was Rafe's next remark.
"Not at all," Hazel replied sweetly. "I'm washing blankets."
As humor it was not subtle. But neither was the man subtle. He laughed aloud and slapped his knee.
"Pretty good. Got a tongue in your head, ain't you?"
Again he pulled his mustache and favored her with what he conceived to be a most fetching leer. He succeeded in making her yearn to hurl the churn at him.
"You've seen me," she said suddenly, raising her dark eyes to his face. "Why not move right along?"
"That's all right," he said easily. "You're only mad at me account of that business the other day. Nothing at all, that wasn't. Just a li'l mistake. We all make them. You mustn't hold it against me."