“Yes, sir!” shouted Sammy. “And Joe, he took the last sheaf right off that table! You bet!”
“How many of you?” asked Ben sharply.
“Just four,” replied Sammy, turning quickly at Ben's unexpected question.
“How many shocking?” continued Ben, with a judicial air.
“Why, none, you blamed gander! An' kep' us humpin', too, you bet!”
“I guess so,” grunted Ben, “from what I've seed.”
Sam regarded him steadfastly. “And what have you 'seed,' Mr. Fallows, may I ask?” he inquired with fine scorn.
“Seed? Seed you bindin', of course.”
“Well, what are ye hootin' about?” Sam was exceedingly wroth.
“I hain't been talking much for the last hour.” In moments of excitement Ben became uncertain of his h's. “I used to talk more when I wasn't so busy, but I hain't been talkin' so much this 'ere 'arvest. We hain't had time. When we're on a job,” continued Ben, as the crowd drew near to listen, “we hain't got time fer talkin', and when we're through we don't feel like it. We don't need, to.”