"Not a bit of it. So help me, Dick, she'd 'a' made this tent a hell for
the rest of the trip if we hadn't. Trouble with her she's got too much
spirit. This'll tone it down a bit."

"Yes," Dick admitted, "she's too ambitious. But then Molly's all right.
A cussed little fool to tackle a trip like this, but a plucky sight
better than those pick-me-up-and-carry-me kind of women. She's the stock
that carried you and me, Tommy, and you've got to make allowance for the
spirit. Takes a woman to breed a man. You can't suck manhood from the
dugs of a creature whose only claim to womanhood is her petticoats. Takes
a she-cat, not a cow, to mother a tiger."

"And when they're unreasonable we've got to put up with it, eh?"

"The proposition. A sharp sheath-knife cuts deeper on a slip than a dull
one; but that's no reason for to hack the edge off over a capstan bar."

"All right, if you say so, but when it comes to woman, I guess I'll take
mine with a little less edge."

"What do you know about it?" Dick demanded.

"Some." Tommy reached over for a pair of Molly's wet stockings and
stretched them across his knees to dry.

Dick, eying him querulously, went fishing in her hand satchel, then
hitched up to the front of the stove with divers articles of damp
clothing spread likewise to the heat.

"Thought you said you never were married?" he asked.