Yet there was never any objection on the part of the partners, and
to-night there was not a shadow of resentment of this intrusion in the
patient, good-humored, tolerant eyes of Uncles Jim and Billy as they
gazed at their guest. Perhaps there was a slight gleam of relief in
Uncle Jim's when he found that the guest was unaccompanied by any one,
and that it was not a tryst. It would have been unpleasant for the
two partners to have stayed out in the rain while their guests were
exchanging private confidences in their cabin. While there might have
been no limit to their good will, there might have been some to their
capacity for exposure.

Uncle Jim drew a huge log from beside the hearth and sat on the driest
end of it, while their guest occupied the stool. The young man, without
turning away from his discontented, peevish brooding over the fire,
vaguely reached backward for the whiskey-bottle and Uncle Billy's tin
cup, to which he was assisted by the latter's hospitable hand. But on
setting down the cup his eye caught sight of the pill-box.

"Wot's that?" he said, with gloomy scorn. "Rat poison?"

"Quinine pills--agin ager," said Uncle Jim. "The newest thing out. Keeps
out damp like Injin-rubber! Take one to follow yer whiskey. Me and Uncle
Billy wouldn't think o' settin' down, quiet like, in the evening arter
work, without 'em. Take one--ye 'r' welcome! We keep 'em out here for
the boys."

Accustomed as the partners were to adopt and wear each other's opinions
before folks, as they did each other's clothing, Uncle Billy was,
nevertheless, astonished and delighted at Uncle Jim's enthusiasm over
HIS pills. The guest took one and swallowed it.