At length, he murmured an “Ah” of satisfaction. Far to the south into the white sheen of sky, immediately over the horizon, he made out a faint smudge—the harvester beyond doubt.
Thither S. Behrman turned his horse's head. It was all of an hour's drive over the uneven ground and through the crackling stubble, but at length he reached the harvester. He found, however, that it had been halted. The sack sewers, together with the header-man, were stretched on the ground in the shade of the machine, while the engineer and separator-man were pottering about a portion of the works.
“What's the matter, Billy?” demanded S. Behrman reining up.
The engineer turned about.
“The grain is heavy in here. We thought we'd better increase the speed of the cup-carrier, and pulled up to put in a smaller sprocket.”
S. Behrman nodded to say that was all right, and added a question.
“How is she going?”
“Anywheres from twenty-five to thirty sacks to the acre right along here; nothing the matter with THAT I guess.”
“Nothing in the world, Bill.”
One of the sack sewers interposed: