"Ye don't seem ter hev ther drive of a man borryin' fire. Why didn't
ye ask Joe. I heers him in thar."
"Hit's _goin' home_ not _comin'_ thet a man's got ter hasten with his
fire," he reminded her. "I didn't ask Joe because--he hain't got ther
kind of fire my heart needs, Alexander."
So her suspicion was true! He had been speaking, not literally, but in
the allegory of a suitor and her gathering wrath burst.
"Then I hain't got hit fer ye nuther. Let yore h'arth stay cold, an'
be damned ter ye--an' now begone right speedily!"
With pure effrontery the young man laughed. Into his voice he put a
pretense of appeal, as he calmly stuffed his pipe with tobacco crumbs.
"Alexander ye wouldn't deny a man such a plum needcessity es fire,
would ye?" he questioned, though even as he said it he drew from his
pocket a box of matches and struck one.
So he had made deliberate and calculated sport of her! Her anger saw
in his presence itself only the insult of the first attack from those
men who "would not be turned back," and once more the rage in her came
to its boiling-point.
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