BEN. That’s what! My month’s up today and I want what’s owin’ t’ me.
ROBERT. But why are you quitting now, Ben, when you know I’ve so much work on hand? I’ll have a hard time getting another man at such short notice.
BEN. That’s for you to figger. I’m quittin’.
ROBERT. But what’s your reason? You haven’t any complaint to make about the way you’ve been treated, have you?
BEN. No. ’Tain’t that. (Shaking his finger) Look-a-here. I’m sick o’ being made fun at, that’s what; an’ I got a job up to Timms’ place; an’ I’m quittin’ here.
ROBERT. Being made fun of? I don’t understand you. Who’s making fun of you?
BEN. They all do. When I drive down with the milk in the mornin’ they all laughs and jokes at me—that boy up to Harris’ and the new feller up to Slocum’s, and Bill Evans down to Meade’s, and all the rest on ’em.
ROBERT. That’s a queer reason for leaving me flat. Won’t they laugh at you just the same when you’re working for Timms?
BEN. They wouldn’t dare to. Timms is the best farm hereabouts. They was laughin’ at me for workin’ for you, that’s what! “How’re things up to the Mayo place?” they hollers every mornin’. “What’s Robert doin’ now—pasturin’ the cattle in the cornlot? Is he seasonin’ his hay with rain this year, same as last?” they shouts. “Or is he inventin’ some ’lectrical milkin’ engine to fool them dry cows o’ his into givin’ hard cider?” (Very much ruffled) That’s like they talks; and I ain’t goin’ to put up with it no longer. Everyone’s always knowed me as a first-class hand hereabouts, and I ain’t wantin’ ’em to get no different notion. So I’m quittin’ you. And I wants what’s comin’ to me.
ROBERT. (coldly) Oh, if that’s the case, you can go to the devil. You’ll get your money tomorrow when I get back from town—not before!