"Do I go on with the work, or don't I ?" "From the looks of the weather--" Mart began to temporize.
"Weather cuts no figure with this matter.

You know what I mean.

What's the decision ?" Luck scowled at the pretty girl on his wall calendar, and began to rub his right foot with the left and to curse the janitor with that part of his brain not occupied with the conversation.
"Well, listen.

You come out to the office, after awhile, and we'll go into this matter calmly," begged Martinson.

"No use in letting that temper of yours run away with you, Luck.