"And Old Man Wisner was one of the silent partners and one of the biggest owners in that syndicate—colonization and irrigation. There ain't anything that he won't go against that there's money in, and he mostly wins," says he.
"Well, what do you know about that!" says I. "Us moving in here and living right next door to him—that's the funniest thing I ever did hear. They shore was on opposite sides of that game, wasn't they, them two folks? Well, Old Man Wisner got the worst of it—that's all. You can't raise nothing on that land except cows and he'll find it out. We got some of our deferred payments coming in, like enough; but it wouldn't surprise me if we got all that land back sometime, and I shore hope we do."
He kind of puckers up his mouth and puts his fingers on it.
"By Jove!" says he. "By Jove! Would you give me a job cowpunching, Curly?" says he.
"Not unless you could rope better then than you can now," says I. "And if you can't ride a horse any better than you can a boat I don't think you could earn your board."
He took it all right, and only laughed.
I went up through the boathouse and the garridge and up the back steps into the little portico—sort of storm door that's over the back door of our house where it looks out over the lake. If you'll believe me, there was Bonnie Bell standing there, all in her bathing clothes! She hadn't gone in yet.
"Has he gone, Curly?" says she.
"He has just went," says I. "What are you doing here, all wet? Why didn't you go in right away?"
"Is he all right, Curly?" says she, sort of rolling her hair up off her neck and into her rubber cap.