“Hot, Mrs. Brook? Why, that ain’t hot. You see, the leather kinda ab-sorbs the sweat and makes it nice and cool.”
One day we were out to take the washing to Mrs. Reed. I had asked Bob to take it Saturday night, when he and Tom Lane had “gone over home” to finish that ploughing. I supposed he had done so, but when he came back on Monday, he said he had “plumb forgot it, but would take it next time.”
We had to pass through Maggie’s claim on the way. She was standing at her door, as we stopped to open the gate. There was no freshly ploughed ground in sight, and I idly asked if she had finished her ploughing.
“No,” she replied, “I kinda looked for Bob over Sunday to finish it, but I reckon he couldn’t get off. I wish you’d tell him to stop here the next time he goes home.”
We drove on, and I wondered what Maggie “reckoned” he couldn’t get away from,—the ranch or his wife.
I gave Mrs. Reed the clothes and I told her Bob had forgotten to bring them over with him Saturday. She looked at me curiously.
“Didn’t Bob work Sunday?”
“No,” I replied, “none of the men worked Sunday. Tom and Bob both said they were going home.”
Mrs. Reed frowned.
“Oh, I suppose Maggie had somethin’ she wanted him to do.”