In the language of the farm, Jim was simply sawing wood.
For two days, the signs on the telegraph poles remained blue in colour.
On the evening of that second day Jim ventured only a little into conversation.
“Phil,––do you know I’m heart sick of playing the darned idiot. I’ve a good mind to start work.”
“Jee-rusalem! You don’t say!” exclaimed his astounded friend.
“Honest to goodness! Man, I wish, though, that I could beat Dalton to it on that deal.”
“I wish you could too, for he is bragging all over the town how he put one over on you, and that you’re on the loose somewhere, worse than ever, too shamefaced to show up in your own town.”
By way of answer, Jim twisted his gaunt face in an enigmatical smile.
“It’s a good ranch!” continued Phil.
“Of course it is! That is why I’d give my head to fool him on it.”