"Take that, Zeb, an’ give it to Widder Denton," he ordered. "It’s been burnin’ me pocket until me skin is scorched. There, don’t ask me where I got it," he added, as Zeb started to speak. "I’ve got enough lies scratched down aginst me already. But I do feel like havin’ a good fight."
"Fight! What de ye want to fight fer?" Zeb asked in astonishment.
"’Cause I’m ugly, that’s why. The sight of that ten-spot makes me want to hit somebody."
"Well, ye’d better git out of this if that’s the way ye feel. I’ve no inclination or time to fight to-day."
"An’ ye don’t want a scrap over the Ten Lost Tribes? I’ve given ye plenty of chances. Now, look, Zeb, who was the great-great-great-grandfather of the man who lost the Ten Tribes in the first place? Kin ye tell me that?"
Such a question in the past had always stirred Zebedee to his inmost depths. But now, instead of launching forth in defence of his pet theory, he leaned against the work-bench, folded his arms, and faced his visitor.
"Well, that’s encouragin’," was the reply. "A bit out of the ordinary, eh? I thought there was somethin’ wrong with ye."
"Yes, I’ve been thinkin’," Zeb repeated, "an’ if you’d do the same occasionally, Abner, it might do ye a world of good."
"H’m, ye needn’t judge all ye’r neighbors’ pigs by ye’r own," was the retort.
"I’m not, Abner. I’m only judgin’ by solid facts. Now, see here. You an’ me have been makin’ fools of ourselves by always squabblin’ over things of little real value. I yanged about the Lost Tribes, an’ you yanged about how many lives you’ve lived."
"They’re mighty interestin’, though," Abner remarked.
"I know they are, an’ there’s no harm in discussin’ them once in a while. But it don’t seem altogether right fer two men like you an’ me to spend so much time over sich things, an’ pay little or no heed to what takes place right under our noses."
"Guess there’s not much that escapes us, Zeb, is there?"
"Did we ever think much about them, anyway, Abner?"
"We certainly didn’t, an’ that’s what’s worrin’ me. Why, when I looked at that poor little dead boy last night, an’ talked to the widder, an’ saw the pinched faces of her children, I felt small enough to crawl through a knot-hole."
"Sure, ye did," Abner agreed. "I’ve felt that way meself, ’specially when Tildy was after me. It’s a mighty creepy feelin’, isn’t it?"