“Well, well,” grinned Big Mac.
“And I’ve give up smokin’, too,” confessed the widow. “It’s been awful hard to do it, but Mr. Smythe says it’s wrong for people, specially women, to smoke. I haven’t had a smoke for several days, Daniel.”
“God bless us,” murmured McTavish, “is that so?”
He picked up a sliver and broke it into small bits.
“You get quite a lot of comfort out of tobaccer, I suppose?”
“No one knows how much,” she sighed.
“Well, missus, maybe I’m wrong,” declared McTavish, “but I tell you what I think. I don’t believe I’d care to give up anythin’ I had, and was sure of, for a chance of gettin’ what a man like Smythe gave me his word I’d get in exchange.”
He laughed, and strode away across the cornfield. Widow Ross followed him with staring eyes.
“I wonder just what he means,” she muttered. “My, but I wish I could have a little smoke right now.”