“That’s a fact,” said Fred Denslow as he aimed a naked ear of corn at the barn door and threw it. “The boys say Hillhouse will even let ’em cuss in his presence, just so they will listen to what he says about Miss Cynthia.”
“That isn’t fair to Miss Cynthia,” Nelson Floyd observed suddenly. “I’m afraid you are making it too hot for her over on that side, so I’m going to invite her over here. You see, I have found the first red ear of corn, and it’s big enough to count double.”
There was a general shout and clapping of hands as he held it up to view in the moonlight. He put it into the pocket of his coat as he rose and moved round toward Cynthia. Bending down to her, he said: “Come on; you’ve got to obey the rules of the game, you know.”
She allowed him to draw her to her feet.
“Now fer the fust act!” Pole Baker cried out. “I hain’t a-goin’ to have no bashful corn-shuckers. Ef you balk or kick over a trace, I’ll leave you out next time, shore.”
“You didn’t make a thoroughly fair rule, Pole,” said Floyd. “The days of woman slavery are past. I shall not take advantage of the situation.”
Everybody laughed as Floyd led her round to his place and raked up a pile of shucks for her to sit on.
“Well, there ought to have been another rule,” laughed Fred Denslow, “an’ that to the effect that if the winning man, through sickness, lack of backbone or sudden death, is prevented from takin’ the prize, somebody else ought to have a chance. Here I’ve been workin’ like a cornfield nigger to win, and now see the feller heaven has smiled on throwin’ that sort of a flower away. Good gracious, what’s the world comin’ to?”
“Well, I’ll have mine,” Pole Baker was heard to say, and he took his little wife in his arms and kissed her tenderly.