I swore to God I'd never
write to you again, and I won't."
"But, good heavens! I never got it."
"Suppose you didn't. You might of known we were poor as Job's
off-ox. Everybody is that earns a living. We fellers on the farm
have to earn a livin' for ourselves and you fellers that don't work. I
don't blame yeh. I'd do it if I could."
"Grant, don't talk so! Howard didn't realize-"
"I tell yeh I don't blame 'im. Only I don't want him to come the
brotherly business over me, after livin' as he has-that's all." There
was a bitter accusation in the man's voice.
Howard leaped to his feet, his face twitching. "By God, I'll go back
tomorrow morning!" he threatened.
"Go, an' be damned! I don't care what yeh do," Grant growled,
rising and going out.
"Boys," called the mother, piteously, "it's terrible to see you
quarrel."
"But I'm not to blame, Mother," cried Howard in a sickness that
made him white as chalk. "The man is a savage. I came home to
help you all, not to quarrel."
"Grant's got one o' his fits on," said the young wife, speaking for
the first time. "Don't pay any attention to him. He'll be all right in
the morning."
"If it wasn't for you, Mother, I'd leave now and never see that
savage again.
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