Big Timber - A Story of the Northwest by Bertrand W. Sinclair
page 59 of 301 (19%)
page 59 of 301 (19%)
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They scuttled off, the wizened little old man steadying his fat _klootch_ along her uncertain way. Down on the lake the chastised logger stood out in his boat, resting once on his oars to shake a fist at Benton. Then Charlie faced about on his shocked and outraged sister. "Good Heavens!" she burst out. "Is it necessary to be so downright brutal in actions as well as speech?" "I'm running a logging camp, not a kindergarten," he snapped angrily. "I know what I'm doing. If you don't like it, go in the house where your hyper-sensitive tastes won't be offended." "Thank you," she responded cuttingly and swung about, angry and hurt--only to have a fresh scare from the drunken cook, who came reeling forward. "I'm gonna quit," he loudly declared. "I ain't goin' to stick 'round here no more. The job's no good. I want m' time. Yuh hear me, Benton. I'm through. Com-pletely, ab-sho-lutely through. You bet I am. Gimme m' time. I'm a gone goose." "Quit, then, hang you," Benton growled. "You'll get your check in a minute. You're a fine excuse for a cook, all right--get drunk right on the job. You don't need to show up here again, when you've had your jag out." "'S all right," Matt declared largely. "'S other jobs. You ain't the whole Pacific coast. Oh, way down 'pon the Swa-a-nee ribber--" |
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