"They all look alike to me, I
must admit; I never had any truck with 'em."
"No, I guess not," Peaceful agreed in his slow way, holding his
pipe three inches from his face while he eyed Peppajee
quizzically. "Don't pay to have any truck with 'em while you
feel that way about it." He smoothed down his snow-white beard
with his free hand, pushed the pipe-stem between his teeth, and
went on smoking.
"I never liked the breed, any way you look at 'em," Baumberger
stated calmly.
"Say, you'll queer yourself good and plenty, if you keep on,"
Wally interrupted bluntly. "Peppajee's ears aren't plugged with
cotton--are they, Jim?"
Neither Peppajee nor Baumberger made reply of any sort, and
Peaceful turned his mild eyes reproachfully toward his untactful
son. But the supper summons clanged insistently from the iron
triangle on the back porch and saved the situation from becoming
too awkward. Even Baumberger let his tilted chair down upon its
four legs with a haste for which his appetite was not alone
responsible, and followed the boys into the house as if he were
glad to escape from the steady, uncompromising stare of the
Indian.
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