Jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. "How d'ye do?" he observed, politely. "Nice day, ain't it? . . . Hum. . . . About five minutes more."
The workman strode down the bank.
"Say," he demanded, "have you seen anything of a plan?"
"Eh? . . . Hum. . . . Two plates and two spoons . . . and two tumblers. . . ."
"Hey! Wake up! Have you seen anything of a plan, I ask you?"
"Eh? . . . A plan? . . . No, I guess not. . . . No, I ain't. . . . What is it?"
"What IS it? How do you know you ain't seen it if you don't know what it is?"
"Eh? . . . I don't, I guess likely."
"Say, you're a queer duck, it strikes me. What are you up to? What are you doin' here, anyway?"
Jed took the cover from the kettle and stirred the fragrant, bubbling mass with a long-handled spoon.