As in every clash he had had with
her yet, he emerged feeling like a reproved school boy. What made it
worse was that he was beginning to feel that there was no justification
for his rage against her. As in the present case, he had been the
aggressor and deserved all the scorn she had heaped upon him. But the
rage was with him, nevertheless, perhaps the more poignant because he
felt its impotency. He looked around at Dade. That young man was
trying to appear unconscious of the embarrassing predicament of his
fellow workman. He endeavored to lighten the load for him.
"She certainly does talk straight to the point," he said. "But I
reckon she don't mean more'n half of it."
Calumet shot a malignant look at him. "Who in hell is askin' for
_your_ opinion?" he demanded.
The paint, however, was secured, Calumet making the trip to Lazette for
it. He returned after dark, and Bob, who was sitting in the kitchen
where Betty was washing the dishes, hobbled out to greet him. Bob had
been outside only a few minutes when Betty heard his voice, raised
joyously. She went to a rear window, but the darkness outside was
impenetrable and she could see nothing. Presently, though, she heard
Bob's step on the porch, and almost instantly he appeared, holding in
his arm a three-month-old puppy of doubtful breed.
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