“It takes rich soil to make trees like those,” a ten-acre farmer told them.
They had driven off the road a hundred feet to his tiny barn in order to water Hazel and Hattie. A sturdy young orchard covered most of his ten acres, though a goodly portion was devoted to whitewashed henhouses and wired runways wherein hundreds of chickens were to be seen. He had just begun work on a small frame dwelling.
“I took a vacation when I bought,” he explained, “and planted the trees. Then I went back to work an' stayed with it till the place was cleared. Now I 'm here for keeps, an' soon as the house is finished I'll send for the wife. She's not very well, and it will do her good. We've been planning and working for years to get away from the city.” He stopped in order to give a happy sigh. “And now we're free.”
The water in the trough was warm from the sun.
“Hold on,” the man said. “Don't let them drink that. I'll give it to them cool.”
Stepping into a small shed, he turned an electric switch, and a motor the size of a fruit box hummed into action. A five-inch stream of sparkling water splashed into the shallow main ditch of his irrigation system and flowed away across the orchard through many laterals.
“Isn't it beautiful, eh?—beautiful! beautiful!” the man chanted in an ecstasy. “It's bud and fruit. It's blood and life. Look at it! It makes a gold mine laughable, and a saloon a nightmare. I know. I... I used to be a barkeeper. In fact, I've been a barkeeper most of my life. That's how I paid for this place. And I've hated the business all the time. I was a farm boy, and all my life I've been wanting to get back to it. And here I am at last.”
He wiped his glasses the better to behold his beloved water, then seized a hoe and strode down the main ditch to open more laterals.
“He's the funniest barkeeper I ever seen,” Billy commented. “I took him for a business man of some sort. Must a-ben in some kind of a quiet hotel.”
“Don't drive on right away,” Saxon requested. “I want to talk with him.”