It was rebuke in the hearing of many men who were showing keen zest in what might be going to happen; it was treating a right-hand man like a child. Kyle resented it and his tone was sharp when he replied that he knew what he was doing. He turned away from the glaring eyes of the master and took in his hand the goad which Brophy brought. There was a sudden tautness in the situation between Flagg and Kyle, and the crowd noted it. The master was not used to having his suggestions flouted. The boss thrust the goad into the hand of the bashful fellow. "There's a hitchpost right side of you, my man. Make believe it's a yoke of oxen. What are your motions and your style of language in getting a start. Go to it!" The teamster swished the goad in beckoning fashion after he had rapped it against the post in imitation of knocking on an ox's nose to summon attention. His efforts to vault lingually over the first "double-u" excited much mirth. Even the corners of Flagg's mouth twitched. "Wo, wo hysh! Gee up, Bright! Wo haw, Star!" Such was the opening command. "They don't hear you," declared Kyle. "Whoop 'er up!" The teamster did make a desperate effort to drive his imaginary yoke of oxen. He danced and yelled and brandished the goad as a crazy director might slash with his baton. He used up all his drive words and invective. Kyle could not let the joke stop there after the man had thrown down the goad, wiped his forehead, and declared that it wasn't fair, trying to make him start a hitching post. "Pick up your gad," commanded the boss. He dropped on his hands and knees. "Now you show us what you can do. I'm a yoke of oxen." "You ain't." "I tell you I am. Get busy. Start your team." "That's about enough of that!" warned Flagg, sourly. "Kyle, get up onto your feet where you belong." But the spirit of jest made the boss reckless and willfully disobedient. He insisted doggedly on his role as a balky ox and scowled at the teamster. "If you want a job you'll have to show _me_!" The teamster adjured Mr. Kyle in very polite language, and did not bring the swishing goad within two feet of the scornful nose; the candidate wanted a job and was not in a mood to antagonize a prospective boss. "You're a hell of a teamster!" yapped Kyle. "What's your system? Do you get action by feeding an ox lollypops, kissing him on the nose and saying, 'Please,' and 'Beg your pardon'?" The big chap began to show some spirit of his own under the lash of the laughter that was encouraging Kyle. "I ain't getting a square deal, mister. That post wa'n't an ox; you ain't an ox." "I am, I tell you! Start me." "You vow and declare that you're an ox, do you, before all in hearing?"