"They jest give me seven cents fer hit, leavin' out two thousand pounds they didn't give but five fer—and one pound wuz jest as good as t'other. My brother-in-law said the reason the buyer done that, wuz he wuz a evenin' up, a makin' up offen me, fer bigger prices he give on some other crops!"
"Thenk you'll sell your terbaccer loose, and haul hit to a ware-house, this time, er prize hit, and ship?" asked Bunch presently.
"I dunno, Bunch." Mr. Doggett pulled his beard reflectively: "I dunno hardly what to do. A feller's bound to go with his terbaccer whenever the buyer sends word fer him to haul hit, and, no matter what sort o' weather hit is, he's got to load his waggins—his and them he's hired—and go. Ef he's got fur to go, say thirty-five miles to a ware-house, like me, two o'clock in the mornin'll ketch him a startin', and I tell you, Bunch, ef the weather's dry, the terbaccer loses weight ever' mile! Ef hit's windy, the wind jest whoops and tears the leaves, and sucks the weight out scandalous: and ef a snow comes on, a body's mules balls up, and they legs twists around 'tel thar's plumb danger o' hockin' 'em.
"And when you git to the ware-house long about night, the buyer jest as apt as not, he won't weigh hit sometimes 'tel the next mornin', and by then, hit won't be no heavier layin' loose on the waggins dryin' out. Then a feller's got to pay fer stablin' and feed o' the teams, and hotel bills fer him and his men, yes, sir!
"And shippin' a body's terbaccer is about as onsatisfactory as sellin' hit at the barn and haulin' hit to a ware-house: yes, sir, Bunch, a body has to sell the best way they can, and has to take what they can git, fer all their hard work! Although hit's plain to be seed, somethin's wrong when a body has to sell to one man and then bag him to buy,—as I wuz a sayin'—I'm a livin' in hopes us terbaccer fellers'll sometime git prices that'll give us somethin' more'n a bare livin'."
"What about the Equity Society that feller was a speakin' on here last summer, a helpin' prices?" observed Bunch.
"The Equity?" repeated Mr. Doggett. "Mr. Archie Evans—he's one o' them Equity men. He kept that Equity speaker a week when he wuz in the neighborhood a speakin'. Bedded him in one them gold-papered rooms, and fed his hoss oats three times a day. He said, ef a cause wuz good and jest, he wuz the man to holp in the h'istin' uv hit! I asked Mr. Evans what the Equity wuz, and he said hit wuz a society with the objict to git profitable prices fer thengs raised on the farm, garden and orchid. He says he j'ined hit mainly because he saw hit had got so sober fellers that put in ever' lick o' time they possible could a workin', couldn't make enough to keep their famblys in anything that wuz any kin to comfort. Yes, sir!
"Mr. Evans, he says hit's the theng fer us terbaccer man to jine hit,—ever' livin' soul of us, tenants and landowners, and jest hold our terbaccer as hit says, ontel we git feefteen cents: quit a raisin' hit one year, and we'd come out on top.
"Them manufacturers used to give us somethin' like a livin' price, afore they all j'ined together in one buyin' comp'ny and put the price down jest as low as they wanted to, and they'd have to give us a livin' price agin, yes, sir, to git us to raise hit.
"Mr. Evans, he says, hit hain't no use to try to git the Gover'ment to holp us out, by a takin' the rev'nue offen the terbaccer so we could stem hit and twist hit and sell hit that away to anybody, jest as we pleased. He says ever' time the terbaccer raisers has tried to git a law takin' the tax off, them beeg manufacterer fellers has sot down on hit so hard, hit jest died ez quick ez me er you would, ef a elephant wuz to mistake us fer a cheer and set down on us! Yes, sir!