"Well," Dick stood with his hand upon the door-knob and a sly grin upon
his face, "I ain't saying a word about anything. Only--if you might
happen to want some--eggs--for your mince pies, you might look good
under the southeast corner of the third haystack, counting from the big
corral. I believe there's a--nest--there."
"The deuce!" Mose brightened understandingly and drummed with his
fingers upon his bare, dough-caked forearm. "Do yuh know who--er--what
hen laid 'em there?"
"I do," said Dick with a rising inflection. "The head he-hen uh the
flock. But if I was going to hunt eggs, I'd take down a chiny egg and
leave it in the nest, Mose."
"But I ain't got--" Mose caught Dick's pale glance resting with what
might be considered some significance upon the vinegar jug, and he
stopped short. "That wouldn't work," he commented vaguely.
"Well, I've got to be going. Boss might can me if he caught me loafing
around here, eating pie when I ought to be working. Ford's a fine
fellow, don't you think?" He grinned and went out, and immediately
returned, complaining that he never could stand socks with a hole in the
toe, and he guessed he'd have to hunt through his war-bag for a good
pair.
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