52 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 



He leapt to his feet, seized a large soup ladle in 

 one hand and advancing in front of Horace shook 

 the other violently in his face. 



" Ain't you able to wait on yourself, you big 

 stiff V 9 he yelled in a frenzy of rage. "D'you take 



me for a wet nurse, stannin' round f eedin' 



you! I'm a great mind to knock the top of your 



head off, right now, and see what kind of a 



fillin' you got in there. " 



Horace was nonplussed but rallied gallantly. 



"Now see here, my man," he retorted, in a voice 

 which he strove to render cold and steely, "have a 

 care. A certain person died once for less than you 

 have said!" 



It was an awfully feeble bluff. Bert had called 

 many more difficult in the games both of poker and 

 of life. That "my man" phrase seemed to get him, 

 too. Without a moment's hesitation he whacked 

 Horace over the head with the ladle and followed the 

 blow with as ably selected an assortment of profane 

 insult and invective as I, at least, had ever heard. 

 He charged him with ignorance, cowardice, immo- 

 rality, arson, burglary, and obtaining money under 

 false pretences. He referred to him directly andi 

 indirectly in so many different ways as a person un- 

 fit by birth, heredity, and education for association 

 with honest men, that we blushed involuntarily for 

 the offender and his presence in our midst. 



Bert ceased only when exhausted. He glared 



