Mrs. Hastings leaned forward suddenly in her chair. “Then,” she said, “I’m going to drive across on Monday, and have a few words with Gregory. Did Moran tell you that Harry had decided to keep the two of them on throughout the year?”
“He wasn’t very explicit, but he seemed to feel he had a grievance against Gregory. Of course, in a way, you can’t blame Gregory. He’s in charge, and it isn’t in him to carry out Harry’s policy. This fall in wheat is getting on his nerves, and in any case he’d probably have held his hand and cut down the crop next year.”
“I do blame him.” Mrs. Hastings turned to Agatha. “You will understand that in a general way there’s not much that can be done when the snow’s upon the ground, and as one result of it the hired man prefers to engage himself for the year. To secure himself from being turned adrift when harvest is over he frequently makes a concession in wages. Now I know Harry intended to keep those two men on, and Tom Moran, who has a little half-cleared ranch back somewhere in the bush of Ontario, came out here tempted by higher wages. I understand he had to raise a few dollars or give the place up, and he left his wife behind. Many of the smaller ranch men can’t live upon their holdings. Well, I’m going over on Monday to tell Gregory he has got to keep these two men, and you’re coming with me.”
Agatha made no reply. In the first place, she knew that if Mrs. Hastings had made any plan she would gain nothing by objecting, and in addition to this she was conscious of a certain desire to go. She felt that if Wyllard had let the men understand that he would not dismiss them, the promise, implied or explicit, must be redeemed. Wyllard would not have attempted to release himself from it—she was sure of that—and it appeared intolerable to her that another man should be permitted to do anything that would unfavorably reflect on him. Somewhat to her relief, Hastings started another topic.
“You have sold quite a few binders and harrows one way or another, haven’t you, Jim?” he asked.
Sproatly laughed. “I have,” he answered. “As I told the Company’s Western representative some time ago, a man who could sell patent medicine to the folks round here could do a good trade in anything. He admitted that my contention sounded reasonable, but I didn’t wear store clothes then, and he seemed very far from sure of me. Anyway, he gave me a show, and now I’ve got two or three complimentary letters from the Company. They’ve added a few dollars to my salary, and hint that it’s possible they may put me in charge of an implement store.”
“And you’re satisfied?”
“Well,” said Sproatly, with an air of reflection, “in some respects, I suppose I am. In others, the thing’s galling. You have to report who you’ve called upon, and, if you couldn’t do business, why they bought somebody else’s machines. If you can’t get a farmer to take you in you have to put up at a hotel. There’s no more camping in a birch bluff under your wagon. Besides, you have to wear store clothes.”
Hastings glanced at Winifred, and Agatha fancied that she understood what was in his mind.
“Some folks would sooner sleep in a hotel,” he remarked, with a twinkle in his eyes.