Andrew—We call this a farm—but you ought to hear about the farms down there—ten square miles where we’ve got an acre. It’s a new country where big things are opening up—and I want to get in on something big before I die. That job I’m offered’ll furnish the wedge. I’m no fool when it comes to farming, and I know something about grain. I’ve been reading up a lot on it, too, lately. [He notices Robert’s absent-minded expression and laughs.] Wake up, you old poetry book worm, you! I know my talking about business makes you want to choke me, doesn’t it?
Robert—[With an embarrassed smile.] No, Andy, I—I just happened to think of something else. [Frowning.] There’ve been lots of times lately that I’ve wished I had some of your faculty for business.
Andrew—[Soberly.] There’s something I want to talk about, Rob,—the farm. You don’t mind, do you?
Robert—No.
Andrew—I walked over it this morning with Ruth—and she told me about things——— [Evasively.] —the hard luck you’d had and how things stood at present—and about your thinking of raising a mortgage.
Robert—[Bitterly.] It’s all true I guess, and probably worse than she told you.
Andrew—I could see the place had run down; but you mustn’t blame yourself. When luck’s against anyone———
