in'. He's as green as grass," Mrs. Cowgill excused him.
"Jerryin'!" Banjo derided. "I'd ruther git me a tin bill and shovel mud with the ducks."
"It was funny," Mrs. Cowgill reflected, the humor of the case bright in her eyes. "When he come back today he said he was goin' railroadin'."
"The hu-hu-hell he did! Damn jerry!" Pap was so moved by the fellow's presumption that he sat up, his greasy countenance inflamed, his pop eyes leering.
"What're they payin' the jerries now?" Banjo asked, indifferently.
"Two-and-a-half on this division; east of here only two," Mrs. Cowgill replied.
"You'll be losin' a lot of railroad men if you make this hu-hu-house a dump for jerries," Pap warned her.
"There'll only be him and Orrin. Nobody's got any kick comin' on Orrin, him boss, even if it ain't such a very high-up job. I'll put him and Tom off together at a corner table, and Louise can wait on 'em. Nobody'll notice. Well, I don't care if they do. He's a good, decent boy; he didn't know what he was doin' when he took a section-hand job."
"Let him go over to Ryan's with the rest of the jerries," Pap suggested indignantly.
"He'll stay right here in this house till he gets good and ready to leave," said Mrs. Cowgill.
She closed her mouth very tightly on the declaration, her thin lips fitting like some excellent piece of joinery.
