Farm life -- Fiction; Nebraska -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction; War stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
"Hello, Claude, glad to see you around again! Sickness can't do
much to a husky young farmer like you. With old fellows, it's
another story. I'm just starting off to have a look at my
alfalfa, south of the river. Get in and go along with me."
They went out to the open car that stood by the sidewalk, and
when they were spinning along between fields of ripening grain
Claude broke the silence. "I expect you know what I want to see
you about, Mr. Royce?"
The older man shook his head. He had been preoccupied and grim
ever since they started.
"Well," Claude went on modestly, "it oughtn't to surprise you to
hear that I've set my heart on Enid. I haven't said anything to
her yet, but if you're not against me, I'm going to try to
persuade her to marry me."
"Marriage is a final sort of thing, Claude," said Mr. Royce. He
sat slumping in his seat, watching the road ahead of him with
intense abstraction, looking more gloomy and grizzled than usual.
"Enid is a vegetarian, you know," he remarked unexpectedly.
Claude smiled. "That could hardly make any difference to me, Mr.
Royce."
The other nodded slightly. "I know. At your age you think it
doesn't. Such things do make a difference, however." His lips
closed over his half-dead cigar, and for some time he did not
open them.
"Enid is a good girl," he said at last. "Strictly speaking, she
has more brains than a girl needs. If Mrs. Royce had another
daughter at home, I'd take Enid into my office. She has good
judgment. I don't know but she'd run a business better than a
house." Having got this out, Mr. Royce relaxed his frown, took
his cigar from his mouth, looked at it, and put it back between
his teeth without relighting it.
Claude was watching him with surprise. "There's no question about
Enid, Mr. Royce. I didn't come to ask you about her," he
exclaimed. "I came to ask if you'd be willing to have me for a
son-in-law. I know, and you know, that Enid could do a great deal
better than to marry me. I surely haven't made much of a showing,
so far."
"Here we are," announced Mr. Royce. "I'll leave the car under
this elm, and we'll go up to the north end of the field and have
a look."
They crawled under the wire fence and started across the rough
ground through a field of purple blossoms. Clouds of yellow
butterflies darted up before them. They walked jerkily, breaking
through the sun-baked crust into the soft soil beneath. Mr. Royce
lit a fresh cigar, and as he threw away the match let his hand
drop on the young man's shoulder. "I always envied your father.
You took my fancy when you were a little shaver, and I used to
let you in to see the water-wheel. When I gave up water power and
put in an engine, I said to myself: 'There's just one fellow in
the country will be sorry to see the old wheel go, and that's
Claude Wheeler.'"
"I hope you don't think I'm too young to marry," Claude said as
they tramped on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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