"How many shocking?" continued Ben, with a judicial air.
"Why, none, you blamed gander! An' kep' us humpin', too, you bet!"
"I guess so," grunted Ben, "from what I've seed."
Sam regarded him steadfastly. "And what have you 'seed,' Mr. Fallows, may I ask?" he inquired with fine scorn.
"Seed? Seed you bindin', of course."
"Well, what are ye hootin' about?" Sam was exceedingly wroth.
"I hain't been talking much for the last hour." In moments of excitement Ben became uncertain of his h's. "I used to talk more when I wasn't so busy, but I hain't been talkin' so much this 'ere 'arvest. We hain't had time. When we're on a job," continued Ben, as the crowd drew near to listen, "we hain't got time fer talkin', and when we're through we don't feel like it. We don't need, to."
A general laugh of approval followed Ben's words.
"You're right, Ben. You're a gang of hustlers," said Alec Murray.
"There ain't much talkin' when you git a-goin'. But that's a pretty good day's work, Ben, ten acres."
Ben gave a snort. "Yes. Not a bad day's work fer two men." He had no love for any of the Morrisons, whose near neighbours he was and at whose hands he had suffered many things.
"Two men!" shouted Sammy. "Your gang, I suppose you mean."
Suddenly Ben's self-control vanished. "Yes, by the jumpin' Jemima!" he cried, facing suddenly upon Sam. "Them's the two, if yeh want to know. Them's binders! They don't stop, at hevery corner to swap lies an' to see if it's goin' to ran. They keep a-workin', they do. They don't wait to cool hoff before they drink fer fear they git foundered, as if they was 'osses, like you fellers up on the west side line there." Ben threw his h's recklessly about. "You hain't no binders, you hain't. Yeh never seed any."
At this moment "King" Morrison himself entered the blacksmith shop.
"Hello, Ben! What's eatin' you?" he exclaimed.
Ben grew suddenly quiet. "Makin' a bloomin' hass of myself, I guess," he growled.
"What's up with Benny? He seems a little raised," said the "Old King," addressing the crowd generally.
"Oh, blowin' 'bout his harvestin' gang," said his son Sam.
"Well, you can do a little blowin' yourself, Sammy."
"Guess I came by it natcherly n'ough," said Sam. He stood in no awe of his father.
"Blowin's all right if you can back it up, Sammy. But what's the matter, Benny, my boy? We're all glad to see you about, an' more'n that, we're glad to hear of your good work this summer. But what are they doin' to you?"
"Doin' nothin'," broke in Sam, a little nettled at the "Old King's" kindly tone toward Ben. "He's blowin' round here to beat the band 'bout his gang."
"Well, Sam, he's got a right to blow, for they're two good workers."
"But they can't bind ten acres a day, as Ben blows about."
"Well, that would be a little strong," said the "Old King." "Why, it took my four boys a good day to tie up ten acres, Ben."
"I'm talkin' 'bout binders," said Ben, in what could hardly be called a respectful tone.
"Look here, Ben, no two men can bind ten acres in a day, so just quit yer blowin' an' talk sense."
"I'm talkin' 'bout binders," repeated Ben stubbornly.
"And I tell you, Ben," replied the "Old King," with emphasis, "your boys--and they're good boys, too--can't tie no ten acres in a day.
They've got the chance of tryin' on that ten acres of wheat on my west fifty. If they can do it in a day they can have it."
"They wouldn't take it," answered Ben regretfully. "They can do it, fast enough."
Then the "Old King" quite lost patience. "Now, Ben, shut up!
You're a blowhard! Why, I'd bet any man the whole field against $50 that it can't be done."
"I'll take you on that," said Alec Murray.
"What?" The "Old King" was nonplussed for a moment.
"I'll take that. But I guess you don't mean it."
But the "Old King" was too much of a sport to go back upon his offer. "It's big odds," he said. "But I'll stick to it. Though I want to tell you, there's nearer twelve acres than ten."
"I know the field," said Alec. "But I'm willing to risk it. The winner pays the wages. How long a day?" continued Alec.
"Quit at six."
"The best part of the day is after that."
"Make it eight, then," said the "Old King." "And we'll bring it off on Monday. We're thrashing that day, but the more the merrier."
"There's jest one thing," interposed Ben, "an' that is, the boys mustn't know about this."
"Why not?" said Alec. "They're dead game."
"Oh, ****'d jump at it quick enough, but Barney wouldn't let 'im risk it. He's right careful of that boy."
After full discussion next Sabbath morning by those who were loitering, after their custom, in the churchyard waiting for the service to begin, it was generally agreed that the "Old King" with his usual shrewdness had "put his money on the winning horse."
Even Alec Murray, though he kept a bold face, confided to his bosom friend, Rory Ross, that he "guessed his cake was dough, though they would make a pretty big stagger at it."
"If **** only had Barney's weight," said Rory, "they would stand a better chance."
"Yes. But **** tires quicker. An' he'll die before he drops."
"But ten acres, Alec! And there's more than ten acres in that field."
"I know. But it's standing nice, an' it's lighter on the knoll in the centre. If I can only get them goin' their best clip--I'll have to work it some way. I'll have to get Barney moving. ****'s such an ambitious little beggar he'd follow till he bust. The first thing," continued Alec, "is to get them a good early start.
I'll have a talk with Ben."
As a result of his conversation with Ben it was hardly daylight on Monday morning when Mrs. Boyle, glancing at her clock, sprang at once from her bed and called her sons.
"You're late, Barney. It's nearly six, and you have to go to Morrison's to-day. Here's Ben with the horses fed."
"Why, mother, it's only five o'clock by my watch."
"No, it's six."
