The day after the funeral Jeff had a talk with Whitwell, and opened his mind to him.
“I'm going over to the other side, and I shan't be back before spring, or about time to start the season here. What I want to know is whether, if I'm out of the house, and not likely to come back, you'll stay here and look after the place through the winter. It hasn't been a good season, but I guess I can afford to make it worth your while if you look at it as a matter of business.”
Whitwell leaned forward and took a straw into his mouth from the golden wall of oat sheaves in the barn where they were talking. A soft rustling in the mow overhead marked the remote presence of Jombateeste, who was getting forward the hay for the horses, pushing it toward the holes where it should fall into their racks.
“I should want to think about it,” said Whitwell. “I do' know as Cynthy'd care much about stayin'—or Frank.”
“How long do you want to think about it?” Jeff demanded, ignoring the possible wishes of Cynthia and Frank.
“I guess I could let you know by night.”
“All right,” said Jeff.
He was turning away, when Whitwell remarked:
“I don't know as I should want to stay without I could have somebody I could depend on, with me, to look after the hosses. Frank wouldn't want to.”
“Who'd you like?”