“I am trying them out here, as you see. I believe it will be celery. This soil is naturally wet, and celery is a glutton for water. Then, it is a late piece, and celery should be transplanted twice before it is put in the field, I believe.” “A lot of work, boy,” said Mr. Bronson, shaking his head. “Well, I never expect to get something for nothing,” remarked Hiram. “And how about the onions?” “Why, they don't seem to do so well. There is something lacking in the land to make them do their best. I believe it is too cold. And, then, I am watching the onion market, and I am afraid that too many people have gone into the game in certain sections, and are bound to create an over-supply.” The gentleman looked at him curiously. “You certainly are an able-minded youngster, Hiram,” he observed. “I s'pose if you do so well here next year as you expect, a charge of dynamite wouldn't blast you away from the Atterson farm?” “Why, Mr. Bronson,” responded the young farmer, “I don't want to run a one-horse farm all my life. And this never can be much more. It isn't near enough to any big city to be a real truck farm--and I'm interested in bigger things. “No, sir. The Atterson Eighty is only a stepping stone for me. I hope I'll go higher before long.” CHAPTER XXVIII. HARVEST But Hiram was not at all sure that he would ever see a celery crop in this bottom-land. Pepper still “hung fire” and he would not go to Mr. Strickland with his option. “I don't hafter,” he told Hiram. “When I git ready I'll let ye know, be sure o' that.” The fact was that the railroad had made no further move. Mr. Strickland admitted to Mrs. Atterson that if the strip along the east boundary of the farm was condemned by the railroad, she ought to get a thousand dollars for it. “But if the railroad board should change its mind again,” added the lawyer, “sixteen hundred dollars would not be a speculative price to pay for your farm--and well Pepper knows it.” “Then Mr. Damocles's sword has got to hang over us, has it?” demanded the old lady. “I am afraid so,” admitted the lawyer, smiling. Mrs. Atterson could not be more troubled than was Hiram himself. Youth feels the sting of such arrows of fortune more keenly than does age. We get “case-hardened” to trouble as the years bend our shoulders. The thought that he might, after all, get nothing but a hundred dollars and his board for all the work he had done in preparation for the second year's crop sometimes embittered Hiram's thoughts. Once, when he spoke to Pepper, and the snaky man sneered at him and laughed, the young farmer came near attacking him then and there in the street. “I certainly could have given that Pepper as good a thrashing as ever he got,” muttered Hiram. “And even Pete Dickerson never deserved one more than Pepper.”