grip of the pipestem. "And what brings you here?"
"How's the cherry crop, Mr. Stummer?" asked Frank.
"Fair to middlin'," replied Mr. Stummer doubtfully.
This was a good sign, as Carl Stummer was rarely known to express an encouraging opinion about anything. If he said crops were poor, one might be reasonably certain that they were really fair. If he said they were "fair to middlin'" it might be inferred that they were excellent.
"Mother wants to know if you can let her have cherries to can this year."
Mr. Stummer chewed with relish at the straw.
"Most probably she kin," he agreed.
"She wanted to speak for them so that you'd keep her in mind at cherry-picking time."
"I'll remember," promised Stummer. "Mrs. Hardy has always been a good customer of mine. You tell her she can have all of them cherries that she wants."
"Thanks, Mr. Stummer. That's all we called about."
The farmer looked at them. His hands were plunged deep in the pockets of his faded overalls. The straw waggled beneath the drooping mustache.
"Out for a hike?" he ventured.
