“Come on up to the house and I'll get Mother Atterson to give us an early supper,” quoth Hiram. “I'm going to town and I invite you to go with me.”
Henry had got used by this time to Hiram's little mysteries. But this seemed to him a case where man had done all that could be done for the crop, and without Providential interposition, “the whole field would have to go to pot”, as he expressed it.
And in his heart the young farmer knew that the outlook for a paying crop of celery right then was very small indeed. He had done his best in preparing the soil, in enriching it, in raising the sets and transplanting them—up to this point he had brought his big commercial crop, at considerable expense. If the drouth really “got” it, he would have, at the most, but a poor and stunted crop to ship in the Fall.
But Hiram Strong was not the fellow to throw up his hands and own himself beaten at such a time as this. Here was an obstacle that must be overcome. The harder the problem looked the more determined he was to solve it.
The two boys drove to town that evening and Hiram sought out a man who contracted to move houses, clean cisterns and wells, and various work of that kind. He knew this man had just the thing he needed, and after a conference with him, Hiram loaded some bulky paraphernalia into the light wagon—it was so dark Henry could not see what it was—and they drove home again.
“I'd like to know what the Jim Hickey you're about, Hiram,” sniffed Henry, in disgust. “What's all this litter back here in the wagon?”
“You come over and give me a hand in the morning—early now, say by sun-up—and you'll find out. I want a couple of husky chaps like you,” chuckled Hiram. “I'll get Pete Dickerson to work against me.”
“If you do, you tell Pete he'll have to work lively,” said Henry, with a grin. “I don't know what it is you want us to do, but I reckon I can keep my end up with Pete, from hoein' 'taters to cuttin' cord-wood.”
“You can keep your end up with him, can you?” chuckled Hiram. “Well! I bet you can't in this game I'm going to put you two fellows up against.”
“What! Pete Dickerson beat me at anything—unless it's sleeping?” grunted Henry, with vast disgust. “I'll keep my end up with him at anything.”