"No, but have ye heared of how he's a-doin' here lately?" persisted the fat man. "I don't know as anybody has named anything special to me about Lacey Rountree or his doin's," Judith returned with a rising irritation. "Why should they?" Jim Cal heaved a wheezy sigh. "'Caze yo' said to be the cause of it," he expounded with lugubrious enjoyment. "Lace Rountree is fillin' hisse'f up on corn whiskey and givin' it out to each and every that he's goin' plumb straight _di_-rect to the dav-il, an' all on yo' accounts--'caze you wouldn't have 'im. Now what do you make out o' that?" "I make out that some folks are mighty big fools," retorted Judith with asperity. "Lace Rountree is no older than Jeff and Andy--he's two years younger'n I am--why, he's like a child to me. I never no more thought of Lace Rountree than I'd think of--well, not so much as I would of Little Buck Provine." "Uh-huh," agreed Jim Cal shaking his head dolefully, "that's the way you talk; but you-all gals had ort to have a care how you toll fellers on. Here's Huldy got Wade so up-tore about her that he's a-goin' to dash out and git him a place on the railroad whar he's mighty apt to be killed up; and you----" "I what?" prompted Judith sharply, as he came to a wavering pause. "Well--they was always one man that you give good reason to expect you'd wed him. I myse'f have heared you, more'n forty times I reckon, say to Blatch Turrentine--or if not say it in so many words, at least----" "Cousin Jim," broke in Judith, carefully ignoring this last charge, "so far as that Lace Rountree is concerned, did you ever know of a reckless feller that come to no good but what he had some gal at whose door he could lay it all? I vow I never did. They ain't a drinkin' whiskey becaze they like it; they don't git into no interruptions becaze they're mad--it's always 'count o' some gal that has give 'em the mitten. I'll thank you not to name Lace Rountree to me again, nor--nor anybody else," as she saw his eyes wander to the sewing in her lap. "Well, Drane's old enough to look out for hisse'f," said Jim Cal, rising and trying his joints apparently for a movement toward home. "Ef you choose to toll him on by takin' care of his chaps, that's yo' lookout, and his lookout--'taint mine; but 'ef I was givin' the man advice, I'd say to him that he might about as well take 'em home, or hunt up some other gal to leave 'em with, 'caze yo' apt to much the chil'en and then pop the do' in the daddy's face."