Tell that to anyone, and you can make me--" "Say, I ain't a damned skunk!" Jerry muttered.

"I'm bad enough, maybe.
At any rate you think so." Then, as usually happened, Jerry decided to hold his tongue.

He turned and lifted the latch of the screen door.

"You sure made a good job of it," he grinned.

"I'll go an' pour this into Bud 'fore he loses his boots!" He did so, and saved Bud's boots and half a night's sleep besides.
Moreover, when Bud, fully recovered, searched his memory of that supper and decided that it was the sliced cucumbers that had disagreed with him, Jerry gravely assured him that it undoubtedly was the combination of cucumber and custard pie, and that Bud was lucky to be alive after such reckless eating.
Having missed the dance altogether, Bud looked forward with impatience to Sunday.