Go down to Sinkhole yourself, if you're so anxious about that camp.

Furthermore," he added stiffly, "it's nobody's business but mine what I write or study, or where I write and study.

So don't set there trying to look wise, Tex--telling me what to do and how to do it.

You can't put anything over on me; your work is too raw.

Al-to-gether too raw!" He glanced sidewise at a circular letter he had dropped, picked it up and began reading it slowly, one eye squinted against the smoke of his cigarette, his manner that of supreme indifference to Tex and all his kind.