“Good-day, Mr. Harvey. I’ll call ag’in. I want to have another chat with Mr. Leonard about family matters.”
Mr. Smith left the office, quite innocent of the fact that he left a breeze of amusement behind him.
Will met him on his way out.
“Want them things shipped?” he asked.
“Well, not just now,” said Mr. Smith, slowly. “Lay them away till I call around ag’in.”
“What did you say was the best growin’ potater?” asked Will, posting himself in the doorway.
“The Peachblows, down our way.”
“Ain’t Murphies good?”
Mr. Smith brushed past him as if he was tired of being catechised.
“I know a durn sight more about ’taters than you do, that’s certain,” said Will to himself. “There’s somethin’ underhand at work here. If I don’t twig what it is afore long, my name ain’t Willful Will.”