"No, I'm not diggin' these days; but I've got a pull wid the
insurance adjuster, and might git an extra allowance for yer."
This was cut from whole cloth. He had never known an adjuster in
his life.
"What's that?" asked Tom, still looking square at him, Quigg
squirming under her glance like a worm on a pin.
"Well, the company can't tell how much feed was in the bins, and
tools, and sech like," he said, with another laugh.
A laugh is always a safe parry when a pair of clear gray
search-light eyes are cutting into one like a rapier.
"An' yer idea is for me to git paid for stuff that wasn't burned
up, is it?"
"Well, that's as how the adjuster says. Sometimes he sees it an'
sometimes he don't--that's where the pull comes in."
Tom put her arms akimbo, her favorite attitude when her anger
began to rise.
"Oh I see! The pull is in bribin' the adjuster, as ye call him,
so he can cheat the company."
Quigg shrugged his shoulders; that part of the transaction was a
mere trifle. What were companies made for but to be cheated?
Tom stood for a minute looking him all over.
"Dennis Quigg," she said slowly, weighing each word, her eyes
riveted on his face, "ye're a very sharp young man; ye're so very
sharp that I wonder ye've gone so long without cuttin' yerself,
But one thing I tell ye, an' that is, if ye keep on the way ye're
a-goin' ye'll land where you belong, and that's up the river in a
potato-bug suit of clothes.
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