"I've made some inquiries about that new wheat your English botanist friend reported on," he said at length. "Our experimental farm people strongly recommend it, and there's a man I wrote to who can't say enough in its favor. You'll sow it this spring?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to stick to the common kinds," George said gloomily. "I've a pretty big acreage to crop and that special seed is remarkably dear."
"That's so," Grant agreed. "As a matter of fact, they haven't quite made their arrangements for putting it on the market yet, and the surest way to get some is to bid for a round lot. After what I'd heard, I wired a Winnipeg agent and he has promised to send me on what looks like more than I can use. Now I'll be glad to let you have as much as you want for your lightest land."
George felt grateful. He did not think that this methodical man had made any careless mistake over his order; but he hesitated.
"Thanks," he said. "Still, it doesn't get over the main difficulty."
"I guess it does. You would have had to pay money down for the seed, and I'll be glad to let the thing stand over until you have thrashed out. The price doesn't count; you can give me back as many bushels as you get."
"Then," said George with a slight flush, "you're more generous than wise. They haven't produced a wheat yet that will stand drought and hail. Suppose I have another year like last? I'm sorry I can't let you run this risk."
"We'll quit pretending. I owe a little to the country that has made me what I am, and these new hardy wheats are going to play a big part in its development. I want to see them tried on the poorest land."
"That's a good reason. I believe it goes some way, but I hardly think it accounts for everything."
His companion looked at him with fixed directness.