Calumet was in no good humor. He felt
like baiting Dade.
"What you clawin' your head that way for?" he suddenly demanded as Dade
continued to puzzle over his problem.
Dade grinned. "I'm goin' to halve these sills together. But I'm
wantin' to make sure that the halves will be made reverse, so's they'll
fit. An' I don't seem to be able to fix it clear in my mind."
"You was braggin' some on bein' a carpenter."
"I reckon I wasn't doin' no braggin'," denied Dade, reddening a little.
Calumet fixed a hostile eye on him. "Braggin' goes," he said shortly.
"If you'd said you was a barber, now, no one would expect you to fit
any sills together. But when you say you've done carpenter work that
makes it different. You ought to _sabe_ sills."
Dade laid his square and scratch awl down on the piece of timber and
deliberately seated himself on the saw-horse beside it. He looked
defiantly at Calumet. A change had come over him from the day
before--the slight deference in his manner had become succeeded by
something unyielding and hard.
"Let's get on an understandin'," he said. "You can't go to pickin' on
me." And he looked fairly into Calumet's eyes over the length of the
timber.
"I'm gassin' to suit myself," said Calumet; "if that don't size up
right to you you can pull your freight.
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