I had thought of the hired man problem, and the same idea had occurred to me, but I knew it wasn't my place to make the suggestion. "No, Mr. Taylor," I replied; "I couldn't think of letting you take such a menial part. I'd rather give up the performance--" I wilted suddenly at his look of sceptical amusement--"unless," I added, "you would really like to do it." "I really would," he responded, with a broad smile. Griggs came. To my amazement, he asked no questions, at first. He had a business-like, preoccupied air, as if he were a bailiff preparing an inventory for a bill-of-sale, and he looked at me, I fancied, as if he suspected I had hastily hidden some of the effects that might legally be attached. He scarcely noticed Peter's growing crops, but he studied the domestic animals intently, jotting down memoranda in his note-book. The inspection evidently satisfied him that they were not stuffed, although in their unfamiliar surroundings the cattle wore a strained and unnatural expression, as if they thought he was an amateur photographer, and feared they might not be taken full face. His manner exasperated me, but I managed to treat him politely, even when he remarked that my hired man was a rum-looking old coon and that the horses needed grooming. Suddenly he shut his note-book with a snap. "Carton," he burst forth, "I've been taken in!" "Taken--in?" I ejaculated. He had an equine cast of countenance, and his eyes rolled in such a vicious way that I instinctively moved directly in front, looking at him fixedly. My surprise was not assumed. "Duped--bamboozled--hoodwinked!" he snorted. I grew pale with rage. I knew I did, though I could not see myself. My eyes flashed; I could feel them flashing. I would have given five dollars to see their scintillations in a mirror. I drew myself up to more than my full height--thank Heaven, I could at least see myself elongate! Andy Taylor, standing beside his buggy with a sopping sponge in one hand, his mouth hanging open and his reddish side-whiskers floating in the breeze, suddenly turned his back and hugged himself, his shoulders heaving in silent spasmodic convulsions. "Mr. Griggs," I said icily, my tone, I was pleased to hear, as pale and frosty as a shaft of the aurora borealis, "what do you mean?" "What do I mean?" he shouted. "I mean that I'll pay Harold Jones back for this--I'll teach him not to run a rig on me!" "Harold--Jones?" I queried vacantly. Griggs burst into a laugh that sounded like a horse's neigh. "Brace up, old man," he adjured me, slapping me on the back. "You don't seem to get on to my meaning, but you don't need to look like an idiot. I'll tell you the whole business."