Mr. Hooper breezed in from time to time, but never to take a hand; to do
so would have seemed quite out of place, though the old gentleman
laughingly made an excuse for this:
"Lads, I ain't no tinker man; never was. Drivin' a pesky nail's a
huckleberry above my persimmon. Cattle is all I know, an' I kin still
learn about them, I reckon. But I know what I kin see an' hear an',
b'jinks, I'm still doubtin' I'm ever goin' to hear that there Eddy's son
do this talkin'. But get busy, lads; get busy!"
"Oh, fudge, Dad! Can't you see they're dreadfully busy? You can't hurry
them one bit faster." Grace was ever just.
"No," said Skeets, who had borrowed Bill's crutch to get into the shop
for a little while. "No, Mr. Hooper; if they were to stay up all night,
go without eats and work twenty-five hours a day they couldn't do any--"
And just then the end of the too-much inclined crutch skated outward and
the habitually unfortunate girl dropped kerplunk on the floor. Gus and
Grace picked her up. She was not hurt by her fall. Her very plumpness
had saved her.
"For goodness' sake, Skeets, are you ever going to get the habit of
keeping yourself upright?" asked Grace, who laughed harder than the
others, except Skeets herself; the stout girl generally got the utmost
enjoyment out of her own troubles.
Quiet restored, Mr. Hooper returned to his subject.
"I reckon you lads, when you git this thing made that's goin' to hoodoo
the air, will be startin' in an' tryin' somethin' else; eh?" he
ventured, grinning.
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