“Just you and I, Jessie. We cannot afford to hire an agent, supposing that one was to be had for the hiring, which is by no means likely. We’ve been eating the melons for days; they are just in their prime, and I know that Joe counted on making quite a little sum on his cantaloupe crop, but if we wait now, hoping for his return, the melons will be ruined; they will be a total loss.”
“You needn’t offer any more arguments, Leslie. I’m glad you thought of it; it’s a pity that I never think of any such thing myself until the procession has gone by. Now let me see, have I got your morning thoughts in order? First, Charity. Toward Joe. Second, Resignation—all capitals—Toward Joe. Third, Labor. For ourselves. Is that right?”
“Yes; if you like to put it that way.”
“You shall have it any way you please, Leslie dear, and I will help you.”
“After breakfast, then, we will harness up the team and drive the wagon into the melon patch, then—we will fill it.”
“Yes, and what then?”
It was like taking a plunge into cold water. I am sure that I was not intended for a huckster, but I managed to respond with some show of courage:
“Why, then I will drive over to the store and sell what I can, and then I will go about among the neighbors with the rest.”
“Will you?” Jessie breathed a sigh of relief. “That will be enterprising, anyway. I should dreadfully hate to drive about peddling melons myself, but there’s such a difference in people about things of that sort.”