"Oh, you don't, don't you?" taunted the other, raging with
wounded pride. "Why, grandpa says you're as poor as Job's turkey
after it was plucked."

It was an old joke of Fletcher's, who, in giving utterance to it,
little thought of the purpose it would finally be made to serve,
for Christopher, halting suddenly at the words, swung round in
the cloud of dust and stood regarding the grandson of his enemy
with a thoughtful and troubled look. The lawyer's words sounded
so distinctly in his ears that he glanced at the boy with a
start, fearing that they had been spoken aloud: "His grandson is
the sole living thing that Fletcher loves." Again the
recollection brought a laugh from him, which he carelessly threw
off upon the frolics of the puppies. Then the frown settled
slowly back upon his brow, and the brutal look, which Carraway
had found so disfiguring, crept out about his mouth.

"I tell you honestly," he said gruffly, "that if you knew what
was good for you, you'd scoot back along that road a good deal
faster than you came. If you're such a headstrong fool as to want
to come with me, however, I reckon you may do it. One thing,
though, I'll have no puling ways."

The boy jumped with pleasure. "Why, I knew all the time I'd get
around you," he answered.

"I always do when I try; and may I shoot some with your shotgun?"

"I'll teach you, perhaps."