"You bet. And right there's where we draw it, Luck," spoke up the dried
little man who seldom spoke at the table, but concentrated his attention
upon the joy of eating what Mrs. Andy set before him. "I come out here
to work for you. That peters out, by gorry I'll go back to chufferin a
baggage truck in Sioux, North Dakoty. Kin I have a drop more coffee,
Mrs. Green?"

While Rosemary proudly brought her new percolator in from the kitchen and
refilled his cup, Luck Lindsay sat and endured the greatest
tongue-lashing of his life. Furthermore, he seemed to enjoy the chorus of
reproaches and threats and recriminations. He chuckled over the eloquence
of Andy Green, and he grinned at the belligerence of Pink and the
melancholy of Happy Jack.

"I don't guess you're crazy to work under Bently Brown," he finally
managed to slide into the uproar. "Do I get you as meaning to stick with
me--wherever I go?"

"You get us that way or you get licked," Weary, the mild-tempered one,
stated flatly. "You can fire us and send us home, but you can't walk off
and leave us with the Acme, 'cause we won't stay."

That was what Luck had ridden twelve cold, rainy miles to hear the Happy
Family declare. He had expected them to take that stand, but it was good
to hear it spoken in just that tone of finality. He stacked his cup and
saucer in his plate, laid his knife and fork across them in the old range
style, and began to roll a cigarette,--smoking at the table being another
comfortable little bad habit which Rosemary Green wisely and smilingly
permitted.