Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at his young partner in
astonishment. His face turned a dull brick color and his blue eyes
snapped.

He spoke in a voice of portentous softness: "Who the hell do you think
you are? A little gorramighty? To make a mistake is natural; to fly
into a temper when it is discovered is childish. What's the matter
with you these past ten days, anyway? A man can't look at you but you
begin to bark and froth. You'd best go off by yourself a while and eat
grass to cool your blood!"

Having delivered himself, Peter pulled deeply at his pipe and gazed
across the lake with a scowl of honest resentment.

It was a long speech to come from Peter, and it went unexpectedly to
the point. Ambrose was silenced. For a long time neither spoke.

Little by little the angry red faded out of Peter's cheeks and neck,
and his forehead smoothed itself. Stealing a glance at young Ambrose,
the blue eyes began to twinkle.

"Say!" he said suddenly.

Ambrose twisted petulantly and muttered in his throat.

"Stick out your tongue!" commanded Peter.

Ambrose stared at him in angry stupefaction. "What the deuce--"