"And I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers for a man without
fighting spirit," Saxon answered. "Why, we wouldn't be here
to-day if it wasn't for the fighting spirit of our people before
us."

"You've got the real goods of a fighter in Billy," Bert assured
her; "a yard long and a yard wide and genuine A Number One,
long-fleeced wool. Billy's a Mohegan with a scalp-lock, that's
what he is. And when he gets his mad up it's a case of get out
from under or something will fall on you--hard."

"Just like that," Mary added.

Billy, who had taken no part in the conversation, got up, glanced
into the bedroom off the kitchen, went into the parlor and the
bedroom off the parlor, then returned and stood gazing with
puzzled brows into the kitchen bedroom.

"What's eatin' you, old man," Bert queried. "You look as though
you'd lost something or was markin' a three-way ticket. What you
got on your chest? Cough it up."

"Why, I'm just thinkin' where in Sam Hill's the bed an' stuff for
the back bedroom."

"There isn't any," Saxon explained. "We didn't order any."

"Then I'll see about it to-morrow."

"What d'ye want another bed for?" asked Bert. "Ain't one bed