He said: "Lord! they must have been an out-at-heels lot not to have any clothes of their own." Now, what do you think of that?
Well, I went on from that and told dad about my flying trips through King's Highway, too--with the girl left out.

Dad matched his finger-tips together while I was telling it, and afterward he didn't say much; only: "I knew you'd play the fool somehow, if you stayed long enough." He didn't explain, however, just what particular brand of fool I had been, or what he thought of old King, though I hinted pretty strong.

Dad has got a smooth way of parrying anything he doesn't want to answer straight out, and it takes a fellow with more nerve than I've got to corner him and just make him give up an opinion if he doesn't want to.

So I didn't find out a thing about that old row, or how it started--more than what I'd learned at the Ragged H, that is.
Frosty had written me, a week or two after I left, that our fellows had really burned King's sheds, and that Perry Potter had a bullet just scrape the hair off the top of his head, where he hadn't any to spare.

It made him so mad, Frosty said, that he wanted to go back and kill, slay, and slaughter--that is Frosty's way of putting it.