When Ford spoke, he proved it.
"Are you any good at all in the kitchen, Jim ?" he asked, turning to him as if he had decided just how he would meet the situation.
"Well, I hate to brag, but I've known of men eating my grub and going right on living as if nothing had happened," Jim admitted modestly.
"Well, you turn yourself loose in here, will you?
The boys will be good and empty when they come--it's dinner time right now.

I'll help you carry Mose out of the way before I go." Jim looked as if he would like to ask what Ford meant to do, but he refrained.

There was something besides preoccupation in Ford's face, and it did not make for easy questioning.

Jim did yield to his curiosity to the extent of watching through a window, when Ford went out, to see where he was going; and when he saw Ford had the jug, and that he took the path which led across the little bridge and so to the house, he drew back and said "Whee-e-e!" under his breath.

Then he remarked to the recumbent Mose, who was not in a condition either to hear or understand: "I'll bet you Dick's got all he wants, right now, without any postscript." After which Jim hunted up a clean apron and proceeded, with his spurs on his heels, his hat on the back of his head, and a smile upon his lips, to sweep out the broken dishes so that he might walk without hearing them crunch unpleasantly under his boots.