“You fellers seem to be havin’ a pretty good time,” observed Simpson, as he sat watching them. “Guess you’re enjoying it all right.”
“Sure we are,” answered Rodney. “Ever camp out?”
“Shucks, no; never had no time for that. Guess if you’d ever lived on a farm you’d know how ’twas. Don’t s’pose you’re much used to real work.”
Grant smiled. “I was brought up on a ranch, and I reckon I know something about work.”
“A ranch!” cried the farmer’s son, his eyes widening. “Where?”
“In Texas.”
“Sho! You don’t say! Well, I snum!” He suddenly regarded Rodney with an amazing increased amount of respect. “Never saw nobody before that ever lived on a ranch,” he confessed. “Was you a real cowboy?”
“In a way, yes; I’ve punched cattle.”
“I do declare!” breathed Simpson. “That must be great fun. I’ve always thought I’d like to be a cowboy.”
“Have you?”