"Bin pickin' pansies the day," continued Easy naïvely, curious to discover what he could.
Snoopy Bill looked at him sharply. But no guile could he discover in the face grinning down at him.
"No such luck, Murphy," said he casually. "I was taking a squint at the yield. Pretty durn good, eh?"
"And it's the yield ye're afthurr meddlin' with and not the swate and gowlden daisies. I saw yuh pokin' around among the stooks as I pulled through the gate."
The smile on Snoopy Bill's face ceased to deepen while the whole man became suddenly alert. Easy Murphy caught the change.
"Ye're Snoopy Bill, shure enough," blurted he. "And I'll lay ye a tin-spot ye were up to no godly devowshuns kneeling in the muck by the stooks. Ye're not prominint for religion, are ye, Snoopy?"
Snoopy Bill's tone was galling to Easy's inflammable spirit as he replied imperturbably:
"Leaving the matter of the 'swate daisies' aside, Murphy. I was praying for you, honest. I was putting in a lick for the Valley Gang asking the good Lord to have a look to Pullar's Outfit when we clean them up."
Easy's jaw set, a sign that an ultimatum was imminent.
"Ye blatherin' spalpeen!" he cried, his hands opening and shutting convulsively. "I'll be afthurr spilin' yer sassy mug if ye open it agin."