“Langston,” he said, “we have a call for you. We can't keep Ruth quiet much longer. She is tired. We want to change her bed completely. She won't allow either of us to lift her. She says we hurt her. Will you come and try it?” “You'll have to give me time to dip and rub off and get into clean clothing,” he said. “I've been keeping away, because I was working on time, and I smell to strangulation of stramonium and saffron.” “Can't give you ten seconds,” said the doctor. “Our temper is getting brittle. We are cross as the proverbial fever patient. If you don't come at once we will imagine you don't want to, and refuse to be moved at all.” “Coming!” cried the Harvester, as he plunged his hands in the wash bowl and soused his face. A second later he appeared on the porch. “Ruth,” he said, “I am steeped in the odours of the dry-house. Can't you wait until I bathe and dress?” “No, I can't,” said a fretful voice. “I can't endure this bed another minute.” “Then let Doctor Harmon lift you. He is so fresh and clean.” The Harvester glanced enviously at the shaven face and white trousers and shirt of the doctor. “I just hate fresh, clean men. I want to smell herbs. I want to put my feet in the dirt and my hands in the water.” The Harvester came at a rush. He brought a big easy chair from the living-room, straightened the cover, and bent above the Girl. He picked her up lightly, gently, and easing her to his body settled in the chair. She laid her face on his shoulder, and heaved a deep sigh of content. “Be careful with my back, Man,” she said. “I think my spine is almost worn through.” “Poor girl,” said the Harvester. “That bed should be softer.” “It should not!” contradicted the Girl. “It should be much harder. I'm tired of soft beds. I want to lie on the earth, with my head on a root; and I wish it would rain dirt on me. I am bathed threadbare. I want to be all streaky.” “I understand,” said the Harvester. “Harmon, bring me a pad and pencil a minute, I must write an order for some things I want. Will you call up town and have them sent out immediately?” On the pad he wrote: “Telephone Carey to get the highest grade curled-hair mattress, a new pad, and pillow, and bring them flying in the car. Call Granny and the girl and empty the room. Clean, air, and fumigate it thoroughly. Arrange the furniture differently, and help me into the living-room with Ruth.” He handed the pad to the doctor. “Please attend to that,” he said, and to the Girl: “Now we go on a journey. Doc, you and Molly take the corners of the rug we are on and slide us into the other room until you get this aired and freshened.” In the living-room the Girl took one long look at the surroundings and suddenly relaxed. She cuddled against the Harvester and lifting a tremulous white hand, drew it across his unshaven cheek. “Feels so good,” she said. “I'm sick and tired of immaculate men.”