“Not in our day, Joshua,” laughed Raner.
“No, no; not in our day,” repeated Layn, joining in the laugh.
“Your laughin’ don’t ’mek no dif’runce. I tell ye, I b’lieve it’ll come yit.”
“Why don’t you try it yerself, ef yer so confident?” asked Layn.
“I’m bedarned ef I don’t b’lieve I could, ef I hed time, an’ tools, an’ all the traps thet’s wanted fur sich things. Them scythes, don’t ye see, could be rigged to go roun’ jist like thet;” and here Alibee cut a stroke to show what he meant. “Yes,” he went on, growing earnest over his vague idea, “you could rig jist about three strappin’ good scythes on to a post to swing roun’ jist ez easy ez thet;” and here again he cut a dashing stroke.
“What a cussed foolish idee that is, Josh,” spoke up Raner, a little vexed at the absurd notion. “How the devil, I’d like to know, would you make the post go?”
“Thet ere could be done somehow ur nuther. Thar’d be a way hit on, if a man taxed his noggin’ long enough,” replied Josh, hesitatingly.
Raner and Layn again both heartily laughed, and Josh said nothing more upon the subject. Whether, though, it was his remonstrance, or whether Raner thought they would thereby be able to cut more grass, he gave word at the next corner to stop and whet. This change put Josh in better spirits, for when the whetting was finished, he remarked, “Thar’s only jist one thing a lackin’, and thet’s the jug. Ef thet ere jug could only foller us roun’, we couldn’t ask no more.”
“Ef it did,” said Layn, “you’d be all the time a guzzlin’.”
“I ain’t no bigger guzzler than you be,” retorted Josh.