"You remember the speeches of the last campaign," said he. "You believe that the laborer is to overturn society. All right. But that has nothing to do with my object. That makes no difference, however, since everything leads to the distress of the farmer. But I want to tell you and all the rest that it is your own fault, as one and as a whole. You never read anything but murders and robberies, or the grumblings of some skate that wants an office. You haven't schooled yourselves into sharpness enough to see that he is trying to use you. You get up before sunrise, and work till after dark, and think that the whole world is watching you. The world doesn't care a snap, I'll tell you that."
"And that's just it, Bill; the world's tryin' to do us."
"Yes, and it will do you."
"I know it, and that's the reason I want to marry out of it."
"That is to say, you want to 'do' a woman to get out of it yourself. What do you expect to give her?"
"Why, I'll give her a good husband, a man that'll fight for her, do anything——"
"Except to work for her," Milford broke in. The hired man grinned. He said that a good husband was about all that a woman ought to expect, these days; he would not fall short, and a man who did not disappoint a good woman came very near to the keeping of all commandments. He was not going to marry for property. But if property made a woman beautiful to the rich, why should it make her ugly to the poor?"
"But you say she is homely and freckled."
"I said freckled, Bill; I didn't say homely. Why, I like freckles. I think they are the puttiest things in the world. They catch me every time. A trout wouldn't be half as putty if he wan't speckled. And if this woman is a trout and has snapped at my fly, all right. The world ain't got a right to say a word."
"The world doesn't know that you are born or ever will be."