By the middle of the morning the front of the ranchhouse had been raised with the assistance of jacks, the old rotted sills taken out and new ones substituted.

About an hour before noon, while Calumet, in woolen shirt and overalls, his face dirty, his hair tousled, and his temper none too good, was wedging the sill tight against the studding above it, he became aware of Betty standing near him.

She nodded toward the sill.
"That makes an improvement already," she said.
"Ye-es ?" he said, with an irritating drawl.
There was a silence; she stood, regarding his back, a faint smile on her face.
"I want to compliment you on your judgment of horses," she persisted, in an attempt to make him talk; "the ones you bought are fine." Calumet drove a wedge home viciously.

But he did not answer.
"I've been checking up your other purchases," she went on; "and I find that you followed the list I gave you faithfully." He turned and looked up.

"Look here," he said; "I got what you wanted, didn't I?
There's no use of gettin' mush headed about it.