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had not even gone through the Frankfort High School, and he was

already a more successful man than Claude was ever likely to be.

Leonard did think these things, but he was fond of Claude, all

the same.

At sunset the car was speeding over a fine stretch of smooth road

across the level country that lay between Frankfort and the

rougher land along Lovely Creek. Leonard’s attention was largely

given up to admiring the faultless behaviour of his engine.

Presently he chuckled to himself and turned to Claude.

“I wonder if you’d take it all right if I told you a joke on

Bayliss?”

“I expect I would.” Claude’s tone was not at all eager.

“You saw Bayliss today? Notice anything queer about him, one eye

a little off colour? Did he tell you how he got it?”

“No. I didn’t ask him.”

“Just as well. A lot of people did ask him, though, and he said

he was hunting around his place for something in the dark and ran

into a reaper. Well, I’m the reaper!”

Claude looked interested. “You mean to say Bayliss was in a

fight?”

Leonard laughed. “Lord, no! Don’t you know Bayliss? I went in

there to pay a bill yesterday, and Susie Gray and another girl

came in to sell tickets for the firemen’s dinner. An advance man

for this circus was hanging around, and he began talking a little

smart,—nothing rough, but the way such fellows will. The girls

handed it back to him, and sold him three tickets and shut him

up. I couldn’t see how Susie thought so quick what to say. The

minute the girls went out Bayliss started knocking them; said all

the country girls were getting too fresh and knew more than they

ought to about managing sporty men and right there I reached out

and handed him one. I hit harder than I meant to. I meant to slap

him, not to give him a black eye. But you can’t always regulate

things, and I was hot all over. I waited for him to come back at

me. I’m bigger than he is, and I wanted to give him satisfaction.

Well, sir, he never moved a muscle! He stood there getting redder

and redder, and his eyes watered. I don’t say he cried, but his

eyes watered. ‘All right, Bayliss,’ said I. ‘Slow with your

fists, if that’s your principle; but slow with your tongue,

too,—especially when the parties mentioned aren’t present.’”

“Bayliss will never get over that,” was Claude’s only comment.

“He don’t have to!” Leonard threw up his head. “I’m a good

customer; he can like it or lump it, till the price of binding

twine goes down!”

For the next few minutes the driver was occupied with trying to

get up a long, rough hill on high gear. Sometimes he could

make that hill, and sometimes he couldn’t, and he was not able to

account for the difference. After he pulled the second lever with

some disgust and let the car amble on as she would, he noticed

that his companion was disconcerted.

“I’ll tell you what, Leonard,” Claude spoke in a strained voice,

“I think the fair thing for you to do is to get out here by the

road and give me a chance.”

Leonard swung his steering wheel savagely to pass a wagon on the

down side of the hill. “What the devil are you talking about,

boy?”

“You think you’ve got our measure all right, but you ought to

give me a chance first.”

Leonard looked down in amazement at his own big brown hands,

lying on the wheel. “You mortal fool kid, what would I be telling

you all this for, if I didn’t know you were another breed of

cats? I never thought you got on too well with Bayliss yourself.”

“I don’t, but I won’t have you thinking you can slap the men in

my family whenever you feel like it.” Claude knew that his

explanation sounded foolish, and his voice, in spite of all he

could do, was weak and angry.

Young Leonard Dawson saw he had hurt the boy’s feelings. “Lord,

Claude, I know you’re a fighter. Bayliss never was. I went to

school with him.”

The ride ended amicably, but Claude wouldn’t let Leonard take him

home. He jumped out of the car with a curt goodnight, and ran

across the dusky fields toward the light that shone from the

house on the hill. At the little bridge over the creek, he

stopped to get his breath and to be sure that he was outwardly

composed before he went in to see his mother.

“Ran against a reaper in the dark!” he muttered aloud, clenching

his fist.

Listening to the deep singing of the frogs, and to the distant

barking of the dogs up at the house, he grew calmer.

Nevertheless, he wondered why it was that one had sometimes to

feel responsible for the behaviour of people whose natures were

wholly antipathetic to one’s own.

III

The circus was on Saturday. The next morning Claude was standing

at his dresser, shaving. His beard was already strong, a shade

darker than his hair and not so red as his skin. His eyebrows and

long lashes were a pale corn-colour—made his blue eyes seem

lighter than they were, and, he thought, gave a look of shyness

and weakness to the upper part of his face. He was exactly the

sort of looking boy he didn’t want to be. He especially hated his

head,—so big that he had trouble in buying his hats, and

uncompromisingly square in shape; a perfect block-head. His name

was another source of humiliation. Claude: it was a “chump” name,

like Elmer and Roy; a hayseed name trying to be fine. In country

schools there was always a red-headed, warty-handed, runny-nosed

little boy who was called Claude. His good physique he took for

granted; smooth, muscular arms and legs, and strong shoulders, a

farmer boy might be supposed to have. Unfortunately he had none

of his father’s physical repose, and his strength often asserted

itself inharmoniously. The storms that went on in his mind

sometimes made him rise, or sit down, or lift something, more

violently than there was any apparent reason for his doing.

The household slept late on Sunday morning; even Mahailey did not

get up until seven. The general signal for breakfast was the

smell of doughnuts frying. This morning Ralph rolled out of bed

at the last minute and callously put on his clean underwear

without taking a bath. This cost him not one regret, though he

took time to polish his new ox-blood shoes tenderly with a pocket

handkerchief. He reached the table when all the others were half

through breakfast, and made his peace by genially asking his

mother if she didn’t want him to drive her to church in the car.

“I’d like to go if I can get the work done in time,” she said,

doubtfully glancing at the clock.

“Can’t Mahailey tend to things for you this morning?”

Mrs. Wheeler hesitated. “Everything but the separator, she can.

But she can’t fit all the parts together. It’s a good deal of

work, you know.”

“Now, Mother,” said Ralph good-humouredly, as he emptied the

syrup pitcher over his cakes, “you’re prejudiced. Nobody ever

thinks of skimming milk now-a-days. Every up-to-date farmer uses

a separator.”

Mrs. Wheeler’s pale eyes twinkled. “Mahailey and I will never be

quite up-to-date, Ralph. We’re old-fashioned, and I don’t know but

you’d better let us be. I could see the advantage of a separator

if we milked half-a-dozen cows. It’s a very ingenious machine.

But it’s a great deal more work to scald it and fit it together

than it was to take care of the milk in the old way.”

“It won’t be when you get used to it,” Ralph assured her. He was