He lay back in the heat, the line tied in a loop on his toe and listened to the burble of the stream. He felt utterly wretched and lonely. They had a week's holiday coming up and he was on bad terms with his best friend.
"That dang girl!" he kept muttering. "What does she want with fussing over books? Doesn't she know enough? What good'll it do her?"
The more he sat and thought, the angrier and more bitter he got. "It's those books! They're what's taking her away from me! I've half a mind to throw them out the window!"
He only managed to get one trout. He put it in his bucket and tied it on the saddle, Fox staring at him as he reacted to his cross, jerky little movements. Joe stroked his nose. "You're my friend, ain't yer? Not like her. I hate her sometimes."
As he rode home he looked up at the midday sky. He would be at the house in time for lunch. "Ah, who am I kidding? I don't hate her, I hate those books."