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.
DAVE. [_In admiration._] Well, I'm durned. The raw gumbo is all along
their track. Wouldn't cost you nothin', would it?
JIM. N
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