JIM. Hold on, Joe. I shouldn't wonder if that was that gumbo. JOE. What gumbo? JIM. The poultice. I throwed it among that coke. JOE. Yes, here's some only half-burned. ESROM. [_Going._] I knowed they shouldn't ought to be no clinker. JOE. But look at this red piece--as hard as a rock. JIM. [_Half-startled._] Why, Joe--[_Looks at him._ JOE. What? JIM. Well, nothing-- MRS. VERNON. Well, what about breakfast, everybody? JOE. Let's finish it--come Sam-- SAM. I've had mine. JOE. Well, come talk to us. SAM. [_Going._] All right--got heaps to tell you. LIZBETH. How do you like the Southern Hotel? _Exeunt all but_ DAVE _and_ JIM. JIM _takes clinker and turns it carefully over in his hand. Then looks through forge--goes to bench near dog, and gets on hands and knees, looking under it._ DAVE. What you lost? JIM. Here it is--[_Rises._] Some more of that gumbo. [_Crosses to forge._ DAVE. What you goin' to do? JIM. Burn it. [_Looks about as if hunting help._] Here--come pump this. DAVE _crosses and takes bellows._ DAVE. What do you want to burn it for? JIM. [_Ignoring question._] Say, Dave-- DAVE. [_Working bellows._] Well? JIM. You know them old coal mines down by Jonesburg? DAVE. Yes. JIM. What do they sell that slack for? DAVE. They don't _sell_ it--they _give_ it to anyone that'll haul it away. JIM. I wonder if they wouldn't deliver it if you took a good deal. DAVE. Don't know. JIM _whistles cheerily a moment and examines gumbo burning._ JIM. [_Pause. Sitting on anvil._] You seem under the weather, Dave. DAVE. [_Moodily._] Oh, I'd be all right, if I had a stidy job. JIM. [_Laughing._] A steady job!--why, you've been workin' nights ever since I knew you. DAVE. I know--but Joe says--I--I ought to have a stidy job. JIM. What's Joe got to do with it? DAVE. Well--Lizbeth-- JIM. [_Amused._] Oh! DAVE. An' I think I could get one, only he don't gimme no time off to look fur it. JIM. Wait a minute. [_Takes gumbo from fire._] Yes, sir--she's gettin' hot. [_Puts it back and whistles a tune._ DAVE. I've almost made a set o' furniture myself. JIM. Have, eh? DAVE. Dug it out with that little draw-knife. I tell you--you can make anything that's made out of wood--with a draw-knife. JIM. [_On anvil again._] Well, it seems to me, Dave, that you're going at it the wrong way. DAVE. How's that? JIM. The old man won't give his consent till you git a steady job. DAVE. That's it-- JIM. And you want a steady job so's you can marry Lizbeth? DAVE. Exactly. JIM. Well, you marry--marry Lizbeth, and you'll have a steady job. [_Gets down._ DAVE, _absorbed with the idea, pumps vigorously._] Hold on! [DAVE _stops;_ JIM _takes gumbo from fire with tongs, and plunges it in the water._] Yes, sir, there it is--hard as a rock--and ain't it a purty color? DAVE. What you goin' to do with it? JIM. I don't know but if the Wabash could get enough of it to ballast that track that washes out every spring, I think they'd take it.