"Did you ever try minding your own business?" Grant inquired with
much politeness of tone.
"We-e-ell, yuh see, m' son, it's my business to mind other
people's business!" He chuckled at what he evidently considered a
witty retort. "I've been pouring oil on the troubled waters all
forenoon--maybe I've kinda got the habit."
"Only you're pouring it on a fire this time."
"That dangerous, yuh mean?"
"You're liable to start a conflagration you can't stop, and that
may consume yourself, is all."
"Say, they sure do teach pretty talk in them colleges!" he
purred, grinning loosely, his own speech purposely uncouth.
Good Indian turned upon him, stopped as quickly, and let his
anger vent itself in a sneer. It had occurred to him that
Baumberger was not goading him without purpose--because
Baumberger was not that kind of man. Oddly enough, he had a
short, vivid, mental picture of him and the look on his face when
he was playing the trout; it seemed to him that there was
something of that same cruel craftiness now in his eyes and
around his mouth.
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