“Two thousand, son,” Hinman corrected. “Two thousand head. You couldn’t hold ’em in the quarantine belt for long without getting jumped, but you know the boss of every outfit off to the south and you could maybe trade deals with one of them. You’ll know how. It’ll save me taxes on two thousand head and give me a few weeks’ free grass. That much for me and a thousand nice dollars for you if you put it across.” “An hour after dark I’ll be shoving those cows across the line,” Carver promised. “Meantime you might advance a hundred. Unfortunately I’m just out of funds.” “Unfortunately,” said Hinman, “you’re just always out.” He counted off the money. “You’ve worked for me on and off ever since you was big enough to claw your way up onto a horse and on some occasions you’ve exercised such fair average judgment in looking after my affairs that I’ve wondered why on all occasions you was such a poor hand to look after your own.” “I’ve been so taken up with your business that I’ve sort of let my own interests drift along,” Carver explained. * * * * * “You’re right handy at doing things for me,” Hinman resumed. “But when it comes to doing anything for yourself you’re somewhat the most tinkering, trifling specimen I’ve come acrost. You really ought to settle on some one job and stick at it.” “That’s my one favorite motto,” Carver confessed. “Stick to your bush--and be exhibited among the vegetables.” He turned his eye upon a tumbleweed that raced madly past before the wind. The dried skeleton was of the general size and shape of a pumpkin. Two more of these discontented wraiths of the prairies hurtled past. “Now there goes a vegetable with ambitions,” said Carver. “Every winter the tumbleweed tribe stages a protest against being mere plants rooted forever to one spot.” He chanted a few of the numberless verses of a prairie song: “Our size and shape is similar,” Said the tumbleweed to the pumpkin. “I’ll run you a race from here to there And all the way back again. “I’m a wild free blade of the open, The spirit of all unrest. I may end up in some worse place But I’m going to make the test.” “And I’m the soul of solid content,” Said the pumpkin to the weed. “Rather than take any chance at all I’ll stay here and go to seed.” But I’d rather be a traveling weed Than a stationary squash. “I know,” Hinman said. “You’re a pure-bred tumbleweed and no mistake. But most folks follow one business, and let the rest alone.” “And it’s my observation that most folks are dissatisfied with what they’re working at but keep on doing it the rest of their natural lives just to try and vindicate their judgment,” Carver said. “Now if I don’t settle on one pursuit there’ll never be any reason for me to be discontented with my choice.” The old man considered this bit of philosophy.