Pete said seriously, "I don't know but what it would be a good move for anybody. Yes, I'm sure it would be."
"Why don't you come along?"
"I probably would, if I was fifteen years younger. But I'm pushing fifty, and I've chased a lot of will-o'-the-wisps in my day. Guess I'm getting chicken-hearted."
"Oregon's no will-o'-the-wisp."
"I know, but by the time a man gets to be my age he thinks everything is. I stick to what I know, and I can't make out any place unless I think so. I don't think I'd make out in Oregon. Want to sell me your standing hay?"
"I'll give it to you."
"Don't be so open-hearted; you're going to Oregon and you'll need money. Besides, I winter a lot of stock and hay's worth money to me. Would twenty-five dollars be right?"
"Right enough with me."
"Good. I'll cut the hay when it's ready for cutting. I swear, Joe, you look like a kid again."
"I almost feel like one, Pete. Doggone, it's not that I don't like Missouri. It's just that I sort of felt myself batting my head against a brick wall here, and now we're going to Oregon."