“Yes,” says Tallow, “I calc’late to be consid’able of a driver.”
“I’ll take a chance on your d-d-drivin’,” says he. “It’s your loadin’ ability that’s worryin’ me—but you’ll have Binney to help you. Wouldn’t be fair to set Plunk on the job helpin’ me win a bet ag’in’ him.”
“What’s the idee?” says I.
“Never you mind,” he says. Then he motioned Silas to a window and pointed out. “How many cords you figger’s in that pile of slabs and strips?”
“Hain’t no idee. Maybe ten, maybe fifteen. Shouldn’t be s’prised if there was more.”
“What you been accustomed to d-d-doin’ with your slabs?”
“Nothin’,” says Silas. “Gen’ally when the spring flood comes they git washed down the river. Good thing. Sort of cleans up the place.”
“Uh-huh,” says Mark, and out he goes. It was half past four then, but before five he was back with Jim Root, that runs the wood-and-coal yard. I saw him and Jim looking at the slab-pile and went down to see what it was about.
“How much you figger’s there?” Jim says.
“Nigh twenty-five cord,” says Mark.