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"Fifteen dollars a month from the first of September to the first of May," answered Dan, "and his grub is throwed in—the best kind of grub, too."

"Well, that ain't so bad," said Silas, slowly. "Fifteen dollars a month and grub for eight months—that would be a hundred and twenty dollars, wouldn't it, Dannie? That's more'n I could make by shooting the birds. Is old man Warren out there now? If he is, I'll go and tell him that I'll take the job. You and Joe can run the ferry during the rest of the summer, and pocket all you can make. I don't care for such trifling things any more."

"Whoop! Hold me on the ground, somebody!" yelled Dan, jumping up and knocking his heels together.

This was the expression he always used and the performance he went through whenever he got mad and became possessed with an insane desire to smash things.

"Now I'll just tell you what's a fact, pap," continued Dan, spreading out his feet, and settling his hat firmly on his head. "Me and Joe won't run the ferry, and neither will you get the chance to grow fat off good grub this winter, less'n you earn it yourself. Didn't I tell you the very first word I said that old man Warren had give the job to Joe?"