Mr. Wingate had no choice but to say that he did.
Grudgingly, he promised that he never again would strike any of the pickers, even if they annoyed him. He said, too, that he would allow them longer lunch hours when they returned to the orchard next season.
“Well, that’s settled,” Mr. McLean declared in relief. “We’ll get the fruit in, and hold the festival after all.”
The night was coming on very dark. Even in the glow of the camp lanterns, the sky seemed much blacker than usual.
“That storm is moving this way,” Mr. Wingate said, scanning the fast-moving clouds. “We must get the cherries into the shed. Drive your trucks direct to my orchard and let’s get at ’em. There’s no time to lose.”
Juan’s father did not like the order.
“No, Senor,” he said. “First, we will finish the picking in Mr. Hooper’s orchard.”
“But you haven’t completed your work for me,” Mr. Wingate said angrily. “It will only take an hour or so.”
Mr. McLean broke into the conversation.
“It’s only fair that Mr. Hooper should have a chance at the pickers,” he said. “He’s been forced to wait on you several days. Also, if the storm breaks, he has more to lose.”