“What you want to pester me about this money for!” The old man was weary. “I didn't come here, lookin' for money, and I don't expect to take none away with me. So I'll say good-night to ye.”
“Hol' on, hol' on! Don' git mad. What time you goin' off in the morning?”
“Before you do, I shouldn't wonder.”
“But hol'! One fine idea—blazin' good idea—just hit me now in the head! Wan' to come on to Chicago wis me? I drop this fellah at Felton. He take the team back, and I get some one to help me on the treep. Why not you? Ever tek' care of stock?”
“Some consid'able years ago I used to look after stock. Guess I'd know an ox from a heifer.”
“Ever handle 'em on cattle-car?”
“Never.”
“Well, all there is, you feed 'em, and water 'em, and keep 'em on their feets. If one fall down, all the others they have too much play. They rock”—Bonny exhibited—“and fall over and pile up in heap. I like to do one turn for you. We goin' the same way—you bring me the good luck, like a bird in the han'. This is my clean-up, you understand. You bring me the beautiful luck. You turn me up right bower first slap. Now it's goin' be my deal. I like to do by you!”
The packer turned over and looked up at the cool sky, pricked through with early stars. He was silent a long time. His pale old face was like a fine bit of carving in the dusk.
“What you think?” asked Moppin, almost tenderly. “I thing you better come wis me. You too hold a man to go like so—alone.”