"Now the boys can turn," John suggested, and at this both Bert and Harry grabbed hold of the long handle that turned the press and started on a run around the machine.
"Oh, there she comes!" cried Bert, as the juice began to ooze out in the tub. "That's cider, all right! I smell it."
"Fine and sweet too," declared Ben, seeing to it that the tub was well under the spout.
"But I don't want you young fellows to do all my work."
"Oh, this is fun," spoke up Bert, as the color mounted to his cheeks from the exercise. A strong stream was pouring into the tub now, and the wholesome odor of good sweet cider filled the room.
"I think I'll try to get a horse this fall when my next pension comes due," said old Ben, "I'm a little stiff to run around with that handle like you young lads, and sometimes I'm full of rheumatism too."
"Father said he would sell our Bill very cheap if he wasn't put at hard work," Harry said.
"We have had him so long we don't want to see him put to a plow or anything heavy, but I should think this would be quite easy for him."
"Just the thing for a worn-out war-horse like myself," answered Ben, much interested. "Tell your father not to think of selling Bill till I get a chance to see him. I won't have my pension money for two months yet, but I might make a deposit if any more work comes in."
"Oh, that would be all right," spoke up John. "Mr. Bobbsey would not be afraid to trust you."