It was always Dannie who plowed on, while Jimmy rode to
town for the missing bolt or buckle, and he generally rolled from
his horse into a fence corner, and slept the remainder of the day
on his return.
The work and heat were beginning to tire him, and his trips to
Casey's had been much less frequent than he desired. He grew to
feel that between them Dannie and Mary were driving him, and a
desire to balk at slight cause, gathered in his breast. He
deliberately tied his team in a fence corner, lay down, and fell
asleep. The clanging of the supper bell aroused him. He opened his
eyes, and as he rose, found that Dannie had been to the barn, and
brought a horse blanket to cover him. Well as he knew anything,
Jimmy knew that he had no business sleeping in fence corners so
early in the season. With candor he would have admitted to himself
that a part of his brittle temper came from aching bones and
rheumatic twinges. Some way, the sight of Dannie swinging across
the field, looking as fresh as in the early morning, and the fact
that he had carried a blanket to cover him, and the further fact
that he was wild for drink, and could think of no excuse on earth
for going to town, brought him to a fighting crisis.
Dannie turned his horses at Jimmy's feet.
"Come on, Jimmy, supper bell has rung," he cried. "We mustn't keep Mary
waiting. She wants us to help her plant the sweet potatoes to-nicht."
Jimmy rose, and his joints almost creaked. The pain angered him.
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