When, by certain well-known sounds, Bud was sure that Cash was
eating, he could, without loss of dignity or without suspicion of
making any overtures toward friendliness, get up and dress and
cook his own breakfast, and eat it at his own end of the table.
Bud wondered how long Cash, the old fool, would sulk like that
Not that he gave a darn--he just wondered, is all. For all he
cared, Cash could go on forever cooking his own meals and living
on his own side of the shack. Bud certainly would not interrupt
him in acting the fool, and if Cash wanted to keep it up till
spring, Cash was perfectly welcome to do so. It just showed how
ornery a man could be when he was let to go. So far as he was
concerned, he would just as soon as not have that dead line
painted down the middle of the cabin floor.
Nor did its presence there trouble him in the least. Just this
morning, however, the fact of Cash's stubbornness in keeping to
his own side of the line irritated Bud. He wanted to get back at
the old hound somehow--without giving in an inch in the mute
deadlock. Furthermore, he was hungry, and he did not propose to
lie there and starve while old Cash pottered around the stove.
He'd tell the world he was going to have his own breakfast first,
and if Cash didn't want to set in on the cooking, Cash could lie
in bed till he was paralyzed, and be darned.
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