“Well, you can do a little blowin' yourself, Sammy.”
“Guess I came by it natcherly n'ough,” said Sam. He stood in no awe of his father.
“Blowin's all right if you can back it up, Sammy. But what's the matter, Benny, my boy? We're all glad to see you about, an' more'n that, we're glad to hear of your good work this summer. But what are they doin' to you?”
“Doin' nothin',” broke in Sam, a little nettled at the “Old King's” kindly tone toward Ben. “He's blowin' round here to beat the band 'bout his gang.”
“Well, Sam, he's got a right to blow, for they're two good workers.”
“But they can't bind ten acres a day, as Ben blows about.”
“Well, that would be a little strong,” said the “Old King.” “Why, it took my four boys a good day to tie up ten acres, Ben.”
“I'm talkin' 'bout binders,” said Ben, in what could hardly be called a respectful tone.
“Look here, Ben, no two men can bind ten acres in a day, so just quit yer blowin' an' talk sense.”
“I'm talkin' 'bout binders,” repeated Ben stubbornly.