of the Trust made no move. He
merely let his small eyes emit a steely glance over the top of his
paper, directed with stern disapproval on the hopeful "remittance"
man.

"An' what 'bug-house,'" he inquired, with biting sarcasm, "is your
bright friends spendin' their vacation at?"

Toby flushed to the roots of his unkempt hair. The sudden death of his
triumph was almost tragic. His face fell, and his heavy jaw dropped in
pathetic astonishment. But it was not Bill's sarcasm alone that so bit
into his bones, it was the jeering light he witnessed in Sandy's eyes,
combined with the undisguised ridicule of Sunny's open grin. His blood
began to rise; he felt it tingling in the great extremities of his
long arms. The obvious retort of the witless was surging through his
veins and driving him.

But the Trust president was talking, and the calm of coming storm was
held for a moment. But it is doubtful if the object of his harangue
grasped anything of his meaning, so great was his anger against his
grinning comrades.

"Beef bones an' soap!" cried Bill harshly, at the unheeding man. "If
they was asses bones we'd sure only need to open up your family
mausoleum to git enough bones to raise a farm o' babbies on. I'd like
to say right here, the feller wot don't know the natural use o' soap
is a danger to the health an' sanitary fixin's o' this yer camp. Beef
bones an' soap!" he went on, as though the very combination of the
words was an offense to his gastronomical senses. "You pumpkin-faced
idjut, you mush-headed tank o' wisdom, you masterpiece of under-done
mule brain, how in sizzlin' torment you're figgerin' to ladle soap
into the vitals of inoffendin' babbies, an' push beef bones through
their innercent stummicks, 'ud par'lize the brains of every science
society in this yer country to know, an' drive the whole world o'
physic dealers barkin' like a pack o' mangy coyotes wi' their bellies
flappin' in a nor'-east blizzard. Gosh-dang it, you misfortunate
offspring of Jonah parents, we're settin' out to raise kids. We ain't
startin' a patent manure fact'ry, nor runnin' a Chinese hand
laundry--"

But the president's picturesque flow was lost in a sudden commotion.
The calm was broken, and the storm burst. The weight of ridicule in
his comrades' faces was too much for Toby, and he leapt from the foot
of the bunk on which he was sitting. He projected himself with more
force than cunning in the direction of the grinning loafer, bent