A week later, as they sat at table asking one another whether Ma Bailey
had took to makin' pies ag'in jest for practice or for Pete, and plaguing
that good woman considerably with their good-natured banter, it occurred
to Bill Haskins to ask Pete if he were going to become a permanent member
of the family or if he were simply visiting; only Bill said, "Are you
aimin' to throw in with us--or are you goin' to curl your tail and drift,
when the snow flies?"
"I reckon I'll drift," said Pete.
This was news. Andy White demurred forcibly. Bailey himself seemed
surprised, and even old Hank Barley, the silent, expressed himself as
mildly astonished.
"We figured you'd stay till after the round-up, anyhow," said Bailey.
"Beckon it's too tame for Pete here," growled Andy.
"That's no fault of yours, Andrew," observed Ma Bailey.
"You're always peckin' at me," grumbled Andy, who detested being called
"Andrew" quite as much as that robust individual known to his friends as
Bill detests being called "Willie"--and Ma Bailey knew it.
"So you aim to leave us," said Haskins, quite unaware of Ma Bailey's eye
which glared disapproval of the subject.
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