“Jack,” says Catty, “Dad’s got a heap more brains and ability than what I got. I was jest patternin’ after him, and doin’ like I figgered he’d do if he was in my place.” Jack didn’t say anything for a second, and then he says, kind of slow and still, “Atkins,” says he, “if I had a son that thought as much of me as yours does of you, I’d figure I was the richest man in the world.” Mr. Atkins scratched his head. “Me and Catty gits along splendid,” says he, “but there’s times when he’s hard to live up to, what with his spoons and forks and liftin’ your hat, and sich. But I guess he’s got me tamed. Seems like there hain’t much shiftlessness left into me.” “And when we git through with that churn,” says Catty, “this whole town is goin’ to stand on its hind legs and cheer for you. Dad, we’re totterin’ right on the edge of bein’ awful respectable here.” “It ’ll be painful,” says Mr. Atkins, “but I guess I kin put up with it if you’re so set on it.” “Now,” says Catty, “let’s talk about the job I got figgered out for you—the churn job.” “Eh? Got any manners in it? Nothin’ where I got to wear a plug-hat, is it?” “You’ll have to look the best you kin,” says Catty, “and talk the best you kin.” Mr. Atkins groaned, but I guess he was sort of joking about it. “Let’s have the worst,” says he. “You got to upset Kinderhook’s applecart,” says Catty. “Me? How? Why?” “First reason,” says Catty, “is that I want you should git all the credit for savin’ the folks’ money. There hain’t nothin’ will make folks think so much of a feller as to have him save some money for them. You’ll be helpin’ the folks here to hang on to a awful lot of it, and the more there is the more they’re bound to be obliged to you. After you’ve done it they jest _can’t_ say you hain’t respectable, nor refuse to give you jobs, nor look down on you. That’s the big reason. The next reason is that a man’s got to do it because nobody would pay any attention to us kids.” “He’s right, Atkins,” says Jack. “The first reason is enough, but I’m here to say that it took a pretty big kid to give up the glory of doing it himself. Catty, I’m right proud to know you.” “Well,” says Mr. Atkins, kind of resigned, like a man that’s just been told he’s going to be operated on for his appendix, “if I got to, why, I got to. What ’ll I do and how ’ll I do it?” So Catty went to work and told us about what he thought ought to be done and how to go about it. He had it all thought out and anybody could see right off that it was a corking good scheme. We talked it over and over and over, and there was suggestions and improvements made, too, but the main scheme was Catty’s. When we were done there wasn’t anything to do but to wait for the demonstration.