"They could have saved that much by staying at home in bed," said Mr. Squires dryly. "I've just seen Mr. Smock. He says there were fifty thousand bushels of wheat in the bins, waiting for cars to take it down to New York. Every bushel of it was going abroad for the Allies. Does that put any sort of an idea into your nut, Anderson?"
"What?"
"Into your bean, I should say. Or, in other words, hair-pasture."
"He means head, Mr. Crow," explained Miss Sue Becker.
"Well, why don't he say head—that's what I'd like to know."
"Do you deduce anything from the fact that the grain was to go to the Allies, Anderson?" inquired Harry.
The harassed marshal scratched his head, but said: "Absolutely!"
"Well, what do you deduce, Mr. Hawkshaw?"
"I deduce, you derned jay, that old man Smock won't be able to deliver it. Move back, will you? You're right in my way, an'—"
"I suppose you know that the Germans are still fighting the Allies, don't you? Fighting 'em here as well as over in France? Now does that help you any?"