The Bishop farm adjoins the club grounds on the east, and everyone for
miles about knows Bishop. He has little use for anything but work and
money, and he always has difficulty in keeping farm labourers, or "hired
men," as he terms them.

About a month ago he employed a fellow named Wallace, who admitted that
he did not know much about farming, but who said he was strong and
healthy and was willing to do the best he could. It was in the haying
season and Bishop was short of men, so he gave this chap a chance.

I met Bishop one day shortly after he put Wallace to work, and he told
me something about him.

"He's strong an' willin' enough," said Bishop, as we stood talking over
the fence, "but he surely is the blamedest, funniest hired man I ever
had, an' I've had some that'd make a man quit the church. What do you
think he wants?"

I assured him that I could not imagine.

"Soap in his room, and cake soap at that!" he exclaimed. "If I hadn't
given it to him he'd a quit, so I had to give it to him. He takes a bath
every morning, an' shaves. That's what he does! Gets up about four
o'clock and goes down to the old swimming hole in the crick, paddles
around a while, an' then comes back to the house an' shaves, an' then
goes out an' milks an' cleans out the stables. Never saw a man wash his
hands so much in my life, but accordin' to his lights he's a mighty good
worker. He eats a lot, but then all hired men eats a lot. An' he reads!
Brought a big trunk with him, an' in it was a lot of books in French,