Part 13 (1/2)
”Guess.”
”Guess, indeed! Goodness forbid I should try. But I say, brother,”
continued Uncle Ramsay, laughing, ”couldn't you manage to fall asleep somewhere out of doors, like the man in the story, and wake up and find yourself a king? My stars, wouldn't we have reforms as long as your reign lasted! The breakfast, Mary? Ah, that's the style!”
”You won't be serious and listen, I suppose, Ramsay.”
”Oh, yes; I will.”
”Well, the Americans--”
”The Americans again; but go on.”
”The Americans, in some parts where I've been, wouldn't lose a straw in a bad season. It is all done by means of great fanners and heated air, you know. Now, I'm going to show these honest Northumbrian farmers a thing or two. I--”
”I say, brother, hadn't you better trust to Providence, and wait for a fair wind?”
”Now, Ramsay, that's where you and I differ. You're a slow Moses. I want to move ahead a trifle in front of the times. I've been looking all over the dictionary of my daily life, and I can't find such a word as 'wait' in it.”
”Let me give you some of this steak, brother.”
”My plan of operations, Ramsay, is--”
”Why,” said Mrs Broadbent, ”you haven't eaten anything yet!”
”I thought,” said Uncle Ramsay, ”you were as hungry as a Tipperary Highlander, or some such animal.”
”My plan, Ramsay, is--” etc, etc.
The two ”etc, etc's” in the last line stand for all the rest of the honest Squire's speech, which, as his sailor brother said, was as long as the logline. But for all his hunger he made but a poor breakfast, and immediately after he jumped up and hurried away to the barn-yards.
It was a busy time for the next two weeks at Burley Old Farm, but, to the Squire's credit be it said, he was pretty successful with his strange operation of drying wheat independent of the sun. His ricks were built, and he was happy--happy as long as he thought nothing about the expense. But he did take an hour or two one evening to run through accounts, as he called it. Uncle Ramsay was with him.
”Why, brother,” said Ramsay, looking very serious now indeed, ”you are terribly down to leeward--awfully out of pocket!”
”Ah! never mind, Ramsay. One can't keep ahead of the times now-a-days, you know, without spending a little.”
”Spending a little! Where are your other books? Mr Walton and I will have a look through them to-night, if you don't mind.”
”Not a bit, brother, not a bit. We're going to give a dance to-morrow night to the servants, so if you like to bother with the book-work I'll attend to the terpsich.o.r.ean kick up.”
Mr Walton and Uncle Ramsay had a snack in the office that evening instead of coming up to supper, and when Mrs Broadbent looked in to say good-night she found them both quiet and hard at work.
”I say, Walton,” said Uncle Ramsay some time after, ”this is serious.
Draw near the fire and let us have a talk.”
”It is sad as well as serious,” said Walton.
”Had you any idea of it?”
”Not the slightest. In fact I'm to blame, I think, for not seeing to the books before. But the Squire--”