“Yes, news that takes me away, and any news that forces me to leave your home is bad news.”
“But you will come back, Ray? You’ll be back when your troubles—when things is straightened up with you?”
“I don’t know.”
The farmer sat back in his chair and drew deeply at his pipe for a full minute, his eyes slightly elevated and his brow knit in thought. When he spoke the words came slowly, as though each had been chosen after deliberation.
“Waal, Ray, if your affairs take yuh away from here, tain’t my affairs tah hold yuh back. But Ah thought of talkin’ kind of confidential with yuh one of these days, an’ it may as well be now. Ah’ve held down this claim fer twenty-one years, boy, an’ Ah reckon Ah’ve about attained my majority. An’ Ah notice Ah don’t climb a cayuse or handle a pitchfork quite as spry as Ah once did. Ah’ve been lookin’ fer some one to take part of the load offa me, an’ when Ah saw how you knew farm work, an’ how yuh shaped intuh the collar, Ah kind a’ figured Ah’d found my man at last. Ah reckon my plans has kinda been upset again.”
“I am sure I appreciate what you have suggested,” said Ray. “If things shape up so—but the fact is, I can promise nothing, say nothing—at present. Some day, perhaps. And now, good-bye, and say good-bye to Kate.”
“I’m thinkin’ it would sound better from your lips. But there’s a little money comin’ to yuh.”
“I had forgotten that,” said Burton, quite truthfully. “I suppose it may come in handy.”
The old man walked to his desk and took out a pocket-book, from which he drew a number of bills. These he placed in Burton’s hand, who, with a word of thanks, shoved them in his pocket without counting.
“Ah calculated yuh’d rather have bills than a cheque,” said the old man, and there was something in his voice which made Ray feel that after all he had disguised very little from his employer.