“What sort of job?” asked Jim.
“They’re nominating you for teacher,” replied Newton.
“Since when has the position of teacher been an elective office?” asked Jim.
“Sure, it ain’t elective,” answered Newton. “But they say that with as many brains as you’ve got sloshing around loose in the neighborhood, you’re a candidate that can break the deadlock in the school board.”
Jim shoveled on silently for a while, and by example urged Newton to earn the money credited to his father’s assessment for the day’s work.
“Aw, what’s the use of diggin’ into it like this?” protested Newton, who was developing an unwonted perspiration. “None of the others are heatin’ themselves up.”
“Don’t you get any fun out of doing a good day’s work?” asked Jim.
“Fun!” exclaimed Newton. “You’re crazy!”
A slide of earth from the top of the pit threatened to bury Newton in gravel, sand and good top soil. A sweet-clover plant growing rankly beside the pit, and thinking itself perfectly safe, came down with it, its dark green foliage anchored by the long roots which penetrated to a depth below the gravel pit’s bottom. Jim Irwin pulled it loose from its anchorage, and after looking attentively at the roots, laid the whole plant on the bank for safety.
“What do you want of that weed?” asked Newton.