Obviously, he could not well divide the
stove and the teakettle and the frying pan and coffeepot. The
line stopped abruptly with a big blob of lampblack mixed with
coal oil, just where necessity compelled them both to use the
same floor space.
The next day Bud had been ashamed of the performance, but his
shame could not override his stubbornness. The black line stared
up at him accusingly. Cash, keeping scrupulously upon his own
side of it, went coldly about his own affairs and never yielded
so much as a glance at Bud. And Bud grew more moody and
dissatisfied with himself, but he would not yield, either.
Perversely he waited for Cash to apologize for what he had said
about gamblers and drunkards, and tried to believe that upon Cash
rested all of the blame.
Now he washed his own breakfast dishes, including the frying
pan, spread the blankets smooth on his bunk, swept as much of the
floor as lay upon his side of the dead line. Because the wind was
in the storm quarter and the lowering clouds promised more snow,
he carried in three big armfuls of wood and placed them upon his
corner of the fireplace, to provide warmth when he returned. Cash
would not touch that wood while Bud was gone, and Bud knew it.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166