One evening he was sitting in Billings', smoking his pipe and thinking. He had been thinking for some time, and at length a sparkle came into his eyes, and he knocked the ashes from his pipe and arose.
“Billings,” he said, “mix me up about a nickel's wuth o' corn-meal, and a nickel's wuth o' flour, and”—he hesitated a moment and then chuckled—“and a nickel's wuth o' wash-blue.”
“For heaven's sake, Pap,” said Billings, “have ye gone plumb crazy?”
“No, I ain't,” said Pap. “I ain't lost all my brains yit, nor I ain't gone plumb crazy yit, neither. That's a hen food I invented.”
“Hen-food!” exclaimed Billings. “You don't 'low that will make hens lay, do you, Pap?”
“I ain't advisin' no one to use it that don't want to,” said Pap, “but I bet you I'm a-goin' to feed that to my hens”; and he chuckled again.
“Pap,” said Billings, “you're up to some be-devilment, sure! What is it?”
“You jist keep your hand on your watch till you find out,” answered Pap, and he took his package and went home.
“Sally,” he said when he entered the house, “I got some hen-food now that's bound to make them hens lay, sure.”
She took the package and opened it.