There wasn't much heart in Morgan's laugh, but it would pass for one on account of the volume of sound. "Oh, let a feller have his joke, won't you, Joe?" said he. "Go ahead," granted Joe, leaning his shoulder against the jamb, facing out toward the dark. Morgan went over and put his hand on the great lad's shoulder, with a show of friendly condescension. "What would the world be without its jokes?" he asked. And then, before anybody could answer: "It'd be like home without a mother." Joe faced him, a slow grin spreading back to his ears. "Or a ready-reckoner," said he. Morgan's laugh that time was unfeigned. "Joe, you've missed your callin'," said he. "You've got no business foolin' away your time on a farm. With that solemn, long-hungry look of yours you ought to be sellin' consumption cure and ringbone ointment from the end of a wagon on the square in Kansas City." "Or books, maybe," suggested Joe. "No-o-o," said Morgan thoughtfully, "I wouldn't just say you're up to the level of books. But you might rise even to books if you'd cultivate your mind and brain. Well, I think I'll fly up to roost. I've got to take an early start in the morning and clean up on this neck of the woods tomorrow. Good night, folks." "I don't suppose Isom'll be home tonight," Ollie ventured, as Morgan's feet sounded on the stairs. "No, I guess not," Joe agreed, staring thoughtfully at the black oblong of the door. "If he does come, I don't suppose it'll hurt him to eat something cold," she said. "I'll wait up a while longer. If he comes I can warm up the coffee for him," Joe offered. "Then I'll go to bed, too," she yawned wearily. "Yes, you'd better go," said he. Ollie's room, which was Isom's also when he was there, was in the front of the house, upstairs. Joe heard her feet along the hall, and her door close after her. Morgan was still tramping about in the room next to Joe's, where he slept. It was the best room in the house, better than the one shared by Isom and his wife, and in the end of the house opposite to it. Joe sat quietly at the table until Morgan's complaining bed-springs told him that the guest had retired. Then he mounted the narrow kitchen stairs to his own chamber. Joe sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his boots, dropping them noisily on the floor. Then, with shirt and trousers on, he drew the quilt from his bed, took his pillow under his arm, and opened the door into the hall which divided the house from end to end. The moon was shining in through the double window in the end toward Ollie's room; it lay on the white floor, almost as bright as the sun. Within five feet of that splash of moonlight Joe spread his quilt. There he set his pillow and stretched his long body diagonally across the narrow hall, blocking it like a gate.