smile, however.

"Lordy me!" he said to himself, when his foot touched the bridge, but he
did not add anything to the exclamation. He was wondering when it was
that he had begun to dislike Dick Thomas; a long while, it seemed to
him, though he had never till just now quite realized it, beyond
resenting his covert sneer that day in town. He had once or twice since
suspected Dick of a certain disappointment that he himself was not
foreman of the Double Cross, and once he had asked Mason why he hadn't
given the place to Dick.

"Didn't want to," Mason had replied succinctly, and let it go at that.

If Dick cherished any animosity, however, he had not made it manifest
in actual hostility. On the contrary, he had shown a distinct
inclination to be friendly; a friendliness which led the two to pair off
frequently when they were riding, and to talk over past range
experiences more or less intimately. Looking back over the six weeks
just behind him, Ford could not remember a single incident--a sentence,
even--that had been unpleasant, unless he clung to his belief in Dick's
contempt, and that he had since set down to his own super-sensitiveness.
And yet--

"He's got bad eyes," he concluded. "That's what it is; I never did like
eyes the color of polished steel; nickel-plated eyes, I call 'em; all
shine and no color. Still, a man ain't to blame for his eyes."

Then Dick overtook him with Buddy trailing, red-eyed, at his heels, and
Ford forgot, in the work to be done that day, all about his
speculations. He involved himself in a fruitless argument with Buddy,
upon the subject of what a seven-year-old can stand in the way of
riding, and yielded finally before the quiver of Buddy's lips. They were
only going over on Long Ridge, anyway, and the day was fine, and Buddy
had frequently ridden as far, according to Dick. Indeed, it was Dick's
easy-natured, "Ah, let the kid go, why don't you?" which gave Ford an
excuse for reconsidering.

And Buddy repaid him after his usual fashion. At the supper table he
looked up, round-eyed, from his plate.

"Gee, but I'm hungry!" he sighed. "I eat and eat, just like a horse
eating hay, and I just can't fill up the hole in me."

"There, never mind, honey," Mrs. Kate interposed hastily, fearing worse.
"Do you want more bread and butter?"

"Yes--you always use bread for stuffing, don't you? I want to be
stuffed. All the way home my b--my stomerch was a-flopping against my
backbone, just like D