canned tomatoes, and beans, and—and nearly everything you didn't get. Think of a grown man—why, Tom Simpson! you must be in love!"
"He ort to be in jail forgittin' my t'backer," said Waco.
Waco thought to throw a little comedy relief into the situation, but his break had the opposite effect on Mrs. Ellison, who looked sharply at Tom. She reached up suddenly and touched his arm, her face white, fright in her eyes.
"What happened down there, Tom?" she asked, her voice as gentle as if she consoled him for a loss.
"Oh, now," said Tom, depreciating her concern. "I'm just a stupid, absent-minded ass!"
"Well, you haven't had your dinner, have you?" She withdrew her hand from his arm slowly, watching him for a betraying flicker of the eye.
"No; I started early and drove slowly, without a stop."
"Come in when you unharness," she said, and would hear no protest against the hospitable order.
Tom drove to the corral, Waco starting after him.
"If t'backer was all I needed in this world to make me happy," he said, "I'd be throwin' my leg over the moon."
He stopped, turned back and closed the gate, putting up his hand in a mock threat of immediate violence when Eudora would have done it. Mrs. Ellison was looking after Tom, trouble knitting her black brows in a frown. Waco started off again to help unhitch, swinging his game leg, singing his song:
If it wasn't for my dhur what'd I do?
