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"If you was to drive that blunder colt up to horse-heaven and he knew it was horse-heaven, you'd have to turn him around and back him in. Then I reckon he'd bust the corral tryin' to get out again." Collie grinned. "Well, I wouldn't this morning if there was anything to eat there, even hay." "Well, you don't get your breakfast at the chuck-house this morning," said Williams gruffly. "I don't, eh?
Telling mother good-by had been the one ordeal he dreaded, and he was glad to have it over with. Old Step-and-a-Half hailed him as he went past the chuck-house, and came limping out, wiping his hands on his apron before he shook hands and wished him good luck. Ezra, pottering around the tool shed, ambled up with the eyes of a dog that has been sent back home by his master.
"We got some fast ones," was all that the foreman chose to say, just then. Pete and the foreman had something to eat in the chuck-house, and returned to the larger building. Brent read The Spider's letter, rolled the end of his silver-gray mustache between his thumb and forefinger, and finally glanced up. "So, you're Pete Annersley?" "That's my name." "Have a chair.
He walked through it to the kitchen where the boys ate the chuck-house, they called it and found nothing to indicate that a meal had been eaten there lately. He went out and down to the stable, where Sam Pretty Cow was just finishing his stall cleaning.
"I-i-if I was to, I'd have to take a terrible lickin'." "Mm." The one-eyed man seemed to understand; then, presently, "Your paw? or your maw?" "No relation at all," protested Johnnie. "Just the man where I live." "He feeds y' O. K.," put in the other. "I was noticin' back yonder in the chuck-house how plump y' are." Johnnie said nothing.
And, after all, a steaming plate of lamp chops in a Chinese chuck-house of a substantial though disappointing town, is more acceptable to even a dreamer than the visionary beefsteak I ate out there in that latent restaurant of a potential village. This was a comfortable thought; and for a quarter of an hour, the far weird cry of things that are no more, was of no avail.
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