Mr. Smith raised his eyebrows and glanced around with a disagreeable smile. “Pe-cu-li-ar amusement; pe-cu-li-ar statements; he himself is pe-cu-li-ar.� The drawled-out word was unfriendly and sinister.
“Black Mayo is all right; all right,� old Mr. Tavis said emphatically.
But Pete and Jake dropped their eyes. Black Mayo Osborne was a queer fellow. They had known him all their lives. But did they really know him? Why was he playing about with birds, like a schoolboy, while other men were working their corn and cotton and tobacco? They looked askance at him as he came out of the post office and went up The Street toward The Roost.
He found Mrs. Osborne sitting on the porch with her eyes on a book propped on the railing and her hands busily knitting a sweater.
“Howdy, Miranda! Where’s David?� he asked.
She looked up with a start. “Oh! it’s you, Mayo,� she said. “David isn’t here; he’s at his corn acre, I suppose. But, Mayo, come in a minute. There’s something I want to speak to you about. It’s Dick,� she went on, as her cousin took off his broad-brimmed straw hat and settled himself on the porch step.
“What about Dick?�
She hesitated a minute. “The other young folks are working splendidly in their war garden.�
“Yes; that was a good suggestion of Anne’s. The food question is serious,� said Black Mayo. “Did you ever know anything like the way the price of wheat has climbed—and soared? Flour is fifteen dollars a barrel, and it will go to twenty, if the government doesn’t get those Food Bills through Congress and take control. I hope it will be a good crop year. The young folks are doing a splendid work in their war gardens.�
“And Dick not in it,� said Dick’s mother, frowning. “He goes off alone somewhere every chance he gets. We’ve never interfered with their little secrets; but this looks so selfish! We’ve thought of compelling him to help, but——�