"I wanto know if y' be!" the old man exclaimed, peering closer.

"Yes. I'm just up from Rock River. John's harvesting, I s'pose?"

"Where's the youngest one-Will?"

"William? Oh! he's a bad aig-he lit out fr the West somewhere. He
was a hard boy. He stole a hatful o' my plums once. He left home
kind o' sudden. He! he! I s'pose he was purty well cut up jest about
them days."

"How's that?"

The old man chuckled.

"Well, y' see, they was both courtin' Agnes then, an' my son cut
William out. Then William he lit out f'r the West, Arizony 'r
California 'r somewhere out West. Never been back sence."

"Ain't, heh?"

"No. But they say he's makin' a terrible lot o' money," the old man
said in a hushed voice. "But the way he makes it is awful scaly. I
tell my wife if I had a son like that an' he'd send me home a bushel
basket o' money, earnt like that, I wouldn't touch finger to it-no,
sir!"

"You wouldn't? Why?"

"'Cause it ain't right. It ain't made right no way, you-"