“You mean you wasn’t certain you’d get it, eh? Well, you will when I get through with it. And there’s a tidy bit goes with it, too. If I didn’t leave it to you, who would I leave it to?” Uncle Israel glared quite ferociously. “I hope you won’t leave it to anyone, sir, for a long time yet. Are you feeling much better?” “Humph! I guess I’ll pull through. Will if that woman don’t starve me to death. What you been doing, Tom?” “I played baseball for the high school yesterday, sir. I pitched for them.” Uncle Israel nodded. “That’s play. What you been doing in the way of work? Cummings and Wright still satisfied with you?” “I think so. You remember I told you they’d promised me a raise of wages in September.” “Must have money to waste,” Uncle Israel grumbled. But his eyes held a kindly gleam in spite of his ungracious tone and Tom suspected that Uncle Israel was secretly a bit proud of his success. “I s’pose your school’s about over, ain’t it?” “Yes, sir, it closes Wednesday.” “Learned anything, have you?” “Lots, sir.” “Humph! I guess, if the truth was told, you’ve been too much taken up with those games o’ baseball to learn much. Sold that pump yet?” “No, sir, not yet. I guess I won’t be able to right away.” “How much you askin’ for it?” “Thirty dollars.” “Thirty dollars! Want to get rich in a hurry, don’t you?” “That isn’t too much for it, sir. It’s in perfect condition. It worked like a breeze when the contractors had it.” “Humph! Wouldn’t take twenty for it, eh?” “No, sir, I wouldn’t want to.” “Nor twenty-five?” “N-no, I don’t think so. Maybe I might, though, if anyone wanted it and would haul it away at that price.” “I’ll take it,” said Uncle Israel. CHAPTER XXIII “PLAY BALL!” Tom stared, open-mouthed. “You--you’ll take it, sir?” Uncle Israel nodded. “If it don’t work like you say it will, though, I won’t pay a cent for it. We ain’t had a decent breath o’ wind for a month and we’ve been haulin’ all the water for the barn by hand. Windmills ain’t worth ten cents without wind and that one out there ain’t done a mite o’ work for a month, not to speak of.” “But--but if you want it, sir, you may have it,” said Tom eagerly. “You’re perfectly welcome to it, Uncle.” “Maybe I am, but I’ll pay for it. You start it out here when you get back. But if it don’t pump water for me, back it goes, Tom. Now you tell that female downstairs that, if she don’t fetch me up something to eat inside of five minutes, I’ll get up and forage for myself!” When, on Monday morning, Tom informed him that Uncle Israel had bought the pump back, Mr. Cummings laughed until the tears came. “Tom,” he said finally, “you’ll be the death of me! Think of palming that thing off on your uncle again!” “But it’s perfectly all right, sir,” insisted Tom. “Sure it’s all right, son. I’m not saying it isn’t. But the idea of selling it back to Israel Bowles gets me!”