They made comments concerning town boys, young fellows who clerked
in stores or who were apprenticed to some tradesman and one of whom had
perhaps brought the girl home at night from a school party or from one of
the affairs called "socials" that were held at the town churches. After
they had eaten in the peculiar silent intent way common to hungry laborers,
the farm hands leaned back in their chairs and winked at each other. Two
of them began an elaborate conversation touching on some incident in the
girl's life. One of the older men, who had been on the farm for many years
and who had a reputation among the others of being something of a wit,
chuckled softly. He began to talk, addressing no one in particular. The
man's name was Jim Priest, and although the Civil War had come upon the
country when he was past forty, he had been a soldier. In Bidwell he was
looked upon as something of a rascal, but his employer was very fond of
him. The two men often talked together for hours concerning the merits
of well known trotting horses. In the war Jim had been what was called
a bounty man, and it was whispered about town that he had also been a
deserter and a bounty jumper. He did not go to town with the other men
on Saturday afternoons, and had never attempted to get into the Bidwell
chapter of the G. A. R. On Saturdays when the other farm hands washed,
shaved and dressed themselves in their Sunday clothes preparatory to the
weekly flight to town, he called one of them into the barn, slipped a
quarter into his hand, and said, "Bring me a half pint and don't you forget
it.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165