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Without a word he crossed to the corded wood, picked up an ax which was stuck

in a chopping block, and, shedding his coat, went to work. The farmer resumed

his chores. Half an hour later he stopped on his way in to breakfast and eyed the

growing pile that lay beside Billy.

"You don't hev to chop all the wood in the county to get a meal from Jed Watson,"

he said.

"I wanna get enough for me partner, too," explained Billy.

"Well, yew've chopped enough fer two meals, son," replied the farmer, and turning

toward the kitchen door, he called: "Here, Maw, fix this boy up with suthin' t'eat--

enough fer a couple of meals fer two on 'em."

As Billy walked away toward his camp, his arms laden with milk, butter, eggs, a

loaf of bread and some cold meat, he grinned rather contentedly.

"A year or so ago," he mused, "I'd a stuck 'em up fer this, an' thought I was smart.

Funny how a feller'll change--an' all fer a skirt. A skirt that belongs to somebody

else now, too. Hell! what's the difference, anyhow? She'd be glad if she knew, an'

it makes me feel better to act like she'd want. That old farmer guy, now. Who'd

ever have taken him fer havin' a heart at all? Wen I seen him first I thought he'd

like to sic the dog on me, an' there he comes along an' tells 'Maw' to pass me a

hand-out like this! Gee! it's a funny world. She used to say that most everybody

was decent if you went at 'em right, an' I guess she knew. She knew most

everything, anyway. Lord, I wish she'd been born on Grand Ave., or I on Riverside

Drive!"

As Billy walked up to his waiting companion, who had touched a match to the

firewood as he sighted the numerous packages in the forager's arms, he was

repeating, over and over, as though the words held him in the thrall of

fascination: "There ain't no sweet Penelope somewhere that's longing much for

me."

Bridge eyed the packages as Billy deposited them carefully and one at a time

upon the grass beside the fire. The milk was in a clean little graniteware pail, the

eggs had been placed in a paper bag, while the other articles were wrapped in

pieces of newspaper.

As the opening of each revealed its contents, fresh, clean, and inviting, Bridge

closed one eye and cocked the other up at Billy.

"Did he die hard?" he inquired.

"Did who die hard?" demanded the other.

167

The Mucker