I'd taught him day after day and cursed him and damn near prayed for him.

But he somehow wouldn't learn--the swine--ah, ah!" He grew vindictively black at the memory.
"Every night he wiped out what I'd taught him during the day and the eraser he used was booze.

So one fine day I dropped the hammer after watchin' him make a botch on a big bar, and cussed him up one leg and down the other.

The Scotchman had a hangover from the night before and he made a pass at me.

It was too much for me just then, for the day was hot and the forge fire had been spitting cinders in my face all morning.