"They all look alike to me, I must admit; I never had any truck with 'em." "No, I guess not," Peaceful agreed in his slow way, holding his pipe three inches from his face while he eyed Peppajee quizzically.

"Don't pay to have any truck with 'em while you feel that way about it." He smoothed down his snow-white beard with his free hand, pushed the pipe-stem between his teeth, and went on smoking.
"I never liked the breed, any way you look at 'em," Baumberger stated calmly.
"Say, you'll queer yourself good and plenty, if you keep on," Wally interrupted bluntly.

"Peppajee's ears aren't plugged with cotton--are they, Jim ?" Neither Peppajee nor Baumberger made reply of any sort, and Peaceful turned his mild eyes reproachfully toward his untactful son.

But the supper summons clanged insistently from the iron triangle on the back porch and saved the situation from becoming too awkward.

Even Baumberger let his tilted chair down upon its four legs with a haste for which his appetite was not alone responsible, and followed the boys into the house as if he were glad to escape from the steady, uncompromising stare of the Indian.
"Better come and eat, Peppajee," Peaceful lingered upon the porch to urge hospitably.