"Nuthin' but a picnic," declared Sube. "I'm the only one that's got a real job!"
After breakfast Sube repaired to the barn, where he found the lawn-mower waiting for him.
"Ha! There you are, you ol' grass-chewer, you!" he exclaimed malevolently. "Thought you'd catch me off my guard, didn't you?—Well this is the way I treat vill'uns like you!" He seized an oil can, and thrusting it between the blades of the lawn-mower as he would have plunged a dagger between the ribs of an enemy, he gave several vicious squirts. "There!" he cried. "Take that!—And that!"
He drew back a pace and contemplated his enemy witheringly. "'Nuff?—Oh! Ain't you? Ain't you, now?—Well take that, then!—And that!" He gave another cruel thrust into the very vitals of the defenseless machine, and then withdrew his dripping blade. "You will waylay me just inside the door of this cave, will you!—You will, will you!—I guess you won't do that again—"
"Who you talkin' to?" came a voice at the door.
Sube jumped back, ready for another antagonist, as Cathead entered.
"Oh! It's you, is it?" asked Sube, about equally divided between relief and confusion. "I thought it was—that it might be—that—Why, I was jus' oilin' the machine!"
But Cathead did not press the point. He had other things in view. "Say, Sube," he began at once, "If you think thinnin' the beets is such a snap job, what'll you take to do 'em?"
Sube turned on his brother with a glare as he replied: "What d'you think I am! Don't you s'pose I got enough to do for one day?"
"Oh, you got enough to do without pay; but I was goin' to pay you," replied Cathead evenly.