“But what have you got to say about it?” blurted out Peur Jamais, at length. “It isn’t your house; so I’d like to know why we mayn’t go up-stairs?”
“Like good soldiers, we must sometimes obey commands without knowing the reasons for their being given,” said the peasant, gravely. “So I am sure you will consider me neither impolite nor unobliging if I refrain from speaking further on the subject.”
“Certainly, Monsieur,” put in George, quickly. “We have no wish to intrude. Come on, Bobby.”
Peur Jamais, however, his face wearing a rather curious expression, began to interrogate the Frenchman, beginning with this rather unusual question:
“What’s the best time to plant potatoes?”
The peasant smiled genially.
“Are you thinking of starting a farm?” he queried.
“No; I am merely a seeker after information.”
“Then I would advise you to buy a copy of some agricultural paper which treats such questions exhaustively. And now, if you will pardon me, I will say au revoir!”
“No objections, I’m sure!” grumbled Bobby. “I hope your farm prospers. It’s quite a hard life, isn’t it?”