A Jane like that draped all over the Bee Master’s chair and her trunk open in the middle of the floor! What did you let her in for?”
“She walked in,” said Jamie.
“And wasn’t you big enough to keep her out?” demanded the little Scout, tilting up a head to look to the full extent of Jamie’s six feet plus.
“Yes, I was,” said Jamie, “if I had used force, but I’m not given to using force on the ladies.”
“So you cleared out and came over here and you turned over our property to that piece of Limburger cheese!”
“I’m afraid I did,” said Jamie.
“Well, you put the biggest crimp in my style that anybody ever did,” said the Scout Master. “I bet you just walked out like a milk-fed turkey an’ never put up one war-like gobble!”
“I told her,” said Jamie, “to tell it to the probate judge.”
“Aw!” said the Scout Master in the hoarsest, roughest tone Jamie ever had heard issue from the small throat. “Aw, what’s the use of the probate judge? You knew the Dee Master, and you know he wouldn't do anything that wasn’t fair and right. If you want to lop over like a California Christmas candle, you can just do it! You can give her your share if you want to, but believe you me,” the hands were in action, “believe you me, Mr. James Lewis MacFarlane, you wili not give away my half of that bee garden, ’cause thax was the only chance I’ve ever stood of getting a horse. The reason I didn’t
