"That's kind of scrubby looking stuff, Hiram," he observed doubtfully. "I sent you up better looking seed."
"Yes, sir. Your seed certainly is well selected and graded," agreed the youth. "But I am not going to plant it on this lowland; not much of it, anyway. That big corn grows tall, I imagine, and takes plenty of time to grow, doesn't it?"
"From a hundred and ten to a hundred and twenty days. But you are planting plenty early."
"Yes. Only we may get frost on this lowland early in September. The farmers about here tell me they do, some years. And June frosts, too, once in a bad while. I am afraid, if we had a set-back in corn planting in June, that long-growing variety of yours would get scarcely glazed down here, before the September frost hit it. And it is not the sort of corn I want for silage."
"I see. You always do have an answer ready, Hiram; and usually it's a good one. Though, truth to tell, an early September frost here is almost as unlikely as a July snow."
"Just the same," his young employee said, "this corn that you think is so scrubby is due to make you a big crop. I am planting a specially prepared strip on that far side toward Battick's for seed."
"No!"
"Yes, sir."
"But it isn't even pure breed, Hiram. There will be a dozen red ears to the bushel, I am certain."
"Did you ever see a horse or a mule refuse a red ear of corn?" laughed Hiram. "I don't ever remember of seeing smut on an ear that turned out to be red—though that doesn't prove anything. And red ears make just as good meal as yellow."