The youngster introduced as the K. C. Kid piped up, truculently: "Say, where do you get this moral stuff? This ain't a Sunday-school picnic; it's a hoboes' camp."
Crook McKusick vaulted up with startling quickness, seized the K. C. Kid by the neck, wrenched his face around, and demanded: "Can that stuff, Kid. If you don't like the new stunt you can beat it. This here lady has got more nerve than ten transcontinental bums put together--woman, lady like her, out battering for eats and pounding the roads! She's the new boss, see? But old Uncle Crook is here with his mits, too, see?"
The Kid winced as Crook's nails gouged his neck, and whimpered: "All right, Crook. Gee! you don't need to get so sore about it."
Unconscious that there had been a crisis, Mother struck in, "Step lively now, boys, and we'll clean the dishes while the water's hot."
With the incredulous gentry of leisure obeying her commands, Mother scoured the dishes, picked up refuse, then penetrated the sleeping-shack and was appalled by the filth on the floor and by the gunny-sacking mattresses thrown in the crude wooden bunks.
"Now we'll tidy this up," she said, "and maybe I can fix up a corner for Mr. Appleby and me--sort of partition it off like."
The usual evening meditations and geographical discussions of the monastery of hoboes had been interrupted by collecting garbage and by a quite useless cleaning of dishes that would only get dirty again. They were recuperating, returning to their spiritual plane of perfect peace, in picturesque attitudes by the fire. They scowled now. Again the K. C. Kid raised his voice: "Aw, let the bunk-house alone! What d'yuh think this is? A female cemetery?"
Crook McKusick glared, but Reddy joined the rebellion with: "I'm through. I ain't no Chink laundryman."
The bunch turned their heads away from Mother, and pretended to ignore her--and to ignore Crook's swaying shoulders and clenching fists. In low but most impolite-sounding voices they began to curse the surprised and unhappy Mother. Father ranged up beside her, protectingly. He was sure there was going to be a fight, and he determined to do for some one, anyway. He was trapped, desperate. Crook McKusick stood with them, too, but his glance wavered from them to the group at the fire and back again, and he was clearing his throat to speak when--