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"Co spills things so, and the boys quarrel when you and the Boarder ain't here to keep peace. It was jest orful this noon. You wasn't here and the Boarder kerried his dinner. 'Cause Flam put too much vinegar on Milt's beans, Milt poured it down Flam's neck, and when I sent him away from the table he sassed me." "Jiminy!" protested Amarilly indignantly.
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill, Forr," said Milton. "If you fellows aren't careful you'll have a real quarrel, and that's the last thing I'm going to stand for, I warn you." "Very well, Milt," replied Forrester, "if you don't want trouble make Harden keep his tongue off me." "The fault is primarily yours, Hard," Milton went on.
As he was leaving the parlor car he saw a man emerge from its drawing-room, make a hasty descent to the platform, hurriedly engage a station hack and drive away. De Milt had an amazing memory for identities something far rarer than memory merely for faces.
"Say, Milt, what does it cost to go to school down there?" "Depends on who goes. Cost me 'bout forty dollars a term. Shep an' I room it and cook our own grub." "What's the tuition?" "Eight dollars a term." "Feller could go to the public school for nauthin', couldn't he?" "Yes, and that'd be all it 'ud be worth," said Milton with fine scorn at an inferior institution. "What does a room cost?"
At twenty-five, when Claire Boltwood chose to come tearing through his life in a Gomez-Dep, Milt was the owner, manager, bookkeeper, wrecking crew, ignition expert, thoroughly competent bill-collector, and all but one of the working force of the Red Trail Garage.
But from the north came the single fresh track made that very day, and from the east, more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And these were imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these interested John more than they did Dale, who had to wait for his companion. "Milt, it ain't a colt's thet little track," avowed John. "Why not an' what if it isn't?" queried Dale.
"Wasn't very many sheep, was there? "A matter of fifty head." "So many! Al, do you still think old Tom killed them sheep?" "Humph! Milt, I know damn well he did." "Al, now how could you know somethin' I don't? Be reasonable, now. Let's don't fall out about this again. I'll pay back the sheep. Work it out "
He's got his mind kind o' set on my goin' through this corn again. When'll we start?" "Let's see to-day is Wednesday we ought to get off on Monday." "Well, now, if you don't mind, Milt, I'd like to have you go up and see what Father says." "I'll fix him," said Milton. "Where is he?" "Right up the road, mending fence."
"Well, that afternoon she went away I was over there and took in everything that was goin' on, only she made me promise on my word of honour I wouldn't even tell Albert. They didn't get any wire from her uncle about the touring car; it was her cousin Milt that jumped on the train and came down and fixed it all up for Milla to go on the trip, and everything.
Milt could hear him commenting, "Doesn't that just get the feeling of the great open, Miss Boltwood?" Milt did not catch her answer. Himself, he grunted, "I never could get much het up about this poetry that's full of Ah's and 'tises." Claire must have seen Milt just after he had sauntered past. She cried, "Oh, Mr. Daggett! Just a moment!" She left Breeches, ran down to Milt. He was frightened.
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