“Use tuh take in shockin’, Ah suppose,” answered the farmer. “Waal, how many sheaves did they put in the shock, your way about?”
The candidate for the position hesitated a moment. “Well,” he ventured at length, “I don’t know that I ever counted, but I should say about fifty.”
“That’ll do fer you,” said the farmer. “You’re not a shocker. You’re a stacker.” Then turning to Burton, “Ah suppose you was raised on a farm too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ever drive a binder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s binders built—right or left-hand cut?”
“Most of them are left-hand, except McCormicks.”
“By hang,” said the farmer, addressing an invisible audience, “here’s a fellow that knows somethin’, anyhow. Say! Now, supposin’ you was drivin’ a binder, an’ she was kickin’ out loose sheaves right along, with the knot all on one end o’ the string, what’ud yuh do fer it?”
“I’d sharpen the knotter-knife first,” said Burton, “and if that didn’t fix it I’d——”