"
"That'd suit me down to the ground, ridin' about after cattle," Dave said.
"Yes, get our seven and eight pounds, maybe nine or ten pounds a-piece.
And could ever we do that pottering about on the place?" Dad leaned over
further and pressed Dave's knee with his hand.
"Mind you!" (in a very confidential tone) "I'm not at all satisfied the
way we're dragging along here. It's utter nonsense, and, to speak the
truth" (lowering his voice again) "I'VE BEEN SICK OF THE WHOLE DAMN THING
LONG AGO."
A minute or two passed.
"It would n't matter," Dad continued, "if there was no way of doing
better; but there IS. The thing only requires to be DONE, and why not DO
it?" He paused for an answer.
"Well," Dave said, "let us commence it straight off--t'morror. It's the
life that'd suit ME."
"Of course it WOULD...and there's money in it...no mistake about it!"
A few minutes passed. Then they went inside, and Dad took Mother into his
confidence, and they sat up half the night discussing the scheme.
Twelve months later. The storekeeper was at the house wanting to see Dad.
Dad was n't at home. He never was when the storekeeper came; he generally
contrived to be away, up the paddock somewhere or amongst the corn--if any
was growing.
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