“Hey, you!” he called out to Grant, “come and hold the horse while we get out.”
Grant came forward and did as he was requested. Had Rodney been alone he would not have heeded the demand, but Mrs. Bartlett’s sex claimed deference, though he did not like her.
“Just go in and tell your mother we’ve come to dinner.”
But Grant was spared the trouble, for the farmer came up at this moment.
“Howdy do, Sophia!” he said. “What sent you over?”
“I wanted to consult you about a little matter of business, father. I hope Mrs. Tarbox will have enough dinner for us.”
“I reckon so, I reckon so,” said Seth Tarbox, who, to do him justice, was not mean as regarded the table. “How’s your husband?”
“Oh, he’s ailing as usual. He’s lazy and shiftless, and if it wasn’t for me I don’t know what would become of us.”
By this time the two had entered the house. Rodney stayed behind, and glanced superciliously at Grant.
“Seems to me you’re looking shabbier than ever,” he said.