There was a general shout and clapping of hands as Floyd held it up to view in the moonlight. He put it into the pocket of his coat, as he rose and moved round towards 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, for I know Miss Cynthia is praying for mercy right now.” Everybody laughed as Floyd led the girl 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' to the effect that if the winning man, through sickness, lack of backbone, or sudden death, was prevented from takin' the prize, somebody else ought to have had a chance. Here I've been workin' like a corn-field negro 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, anyway,” Pole Baker was heard to say, and he took his little wife in his arms and kissed her tenderly.
VI
REFRESHMENTS had been served, the last ear of com husked and thrown into the bam, and they had all risen to depart, when Hillhouse hurried down the path from the cottage. He was panting audibly, and had evidently been walking fast. He shook hands perfunctorily with Pole and his wife, and then turned to Cynthia.