Bull removed his pipe and gazed across the stove.

“And now for your news, Bat,” he said, like a man anticipating a pleasant continuation of his own good news.

Bat shook his head decidedly.

“No,” he said, in his brusque fashion.  “Not to-night, boy.  Guess I ain’t got a thing to tell to match your stuff.  We just carried on, and we’ve worked big.  We’re in good shape for the darn scrap with the Skandinavia you told me about.  Guess I’ll hand you my stuff to-morrow, when I’m goin’ to show you things.  This night’s your night—­sure.”

His twinkling eyes were full of kindly regard, for all the brusqueness of his denial.  And Bull smiled back his content.

“Well, it’s your ‘hand’ Bat,” he said easily.  “You’ll play it your way.”

His eyes turned to the comforting stove again, as the howl of the storm outside shook the framing of the house.

Presently the other raised a pair of smiling eyes.

“You know, boy,” the lumberman said, ejecting a worn-out chew of tobacco, “all this means one mighty big thing your way.  You see, you got life before you.  Maybe I’ve years to run, too.  But it ain’t the same.  No,” he shook his grizzled head, “you can’t never make nuthin’ of me but a lumber-boss.  You’ll never be a thing but a college-bred fighter all your life.  There’s a third share in this thing for both of us.  Well, that’s goin’ to be one a’ mighty pile.  I was wonderin’.  Shall you quit?  Shall you cut right out with the boodle?  What’ll you do?”

Bull sat up and laughed.  And his answer came on the instant.

“Why, marry,” he said.

Bat nodded.

“That’s queer,” he said.  “I guessed you’d answer that way.”

“Why?”

Bat folded his arms across his broad chest.

“You’re young,” he replied.

Bull laughed again.

“Better say it,” he cried.  “An’ darn foolish.”

“No, I hadn’t that in mind.  No, Bull.  If I had your years I guess I’d feel that way, too.  I wonder—­”

“You’re guessing to know who I’d marry, eh?” Bull’s pipe was knocked out into the cuspidore.  Then he sat up again and his eyes were full of reckless delight.  “Here,” he cried, “I guess it’s mostly school-kids who shout the things they reckon to do—­or a fool man.  It doesn’t matter.  Maybe I’m both.  Anyway, I’m just crazy for—­for—­”

“Red hair, an’—­an’ a pair of mighty pretty eyes?”

“Sure.”

Bat nodded.  A deep satisfaction stirred him.

“I reckoned that way, ever since—­Say, I’m glad.”

But Bull’s mood had sobered.

“She’s in the enemy camp though,” he demurred.

“It’ll hand you another scrap—­haulin’ her out.”

“Yes.”

Bat rose from his chair and stretched his trunk-like body.

“Well,” he said, “it’s me for the blankets.”  Then he emitted a deep-throated chuckle.  “You get at it, boy,” he went on.  “An’ if you’re needin’ any help I can pass, why, count on it.  If you mean marryin’ I’d sooner see you hook up team with that red-haired gal than anything in the world I ever set two eyes on.  Guess I’ll hand you my stuff in the morning if the storm quits.”