“They’ve been accumulating a good many years,” said Jonathan.
“Yes, that’s it. And so the doors all stick, and the latches won’t latch, and the shades are sulky or wild, and the pantry shelves—have you noticed?—they’re all warped so they rock when you set a dish on them.”
“And the chairs pull apart,” added Jonathan.
“Yes. Of course after we catch up we’ll be all right.”
“I wouldn’t count too much on catching up.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“The farm has had a long start.”
“But you’re a Yankee,” I argued; “the Yankee nature fairly feeds on such jobs—‘putter jobs,’ you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Only, of course, you get on faster if you’re not too particular about having the exact tool—”