e without a turn of his hand, without an hour's labor.
To Martin, the distinction was sharp and actual.

He figured quickly. Five thousand dollars would do wonders. With that
amount, he would build so substantially that his neighbors could no
longer feel the disapprobation in which, according to Nellie, he was
beginning to be held, because of his sordid, hermit-like life. That five
thousand could buy many cows and additional acreage--but just now a home
and a wife would be better investments. Yes, he would marry and a house
should be his bait. That was settled. He would drive into Fallon at once
to see the carpenter and deposit the check.

He was already out of the house when a thought struck him. Suppose
he were to meet just the woman he might want? These soiled, once-blue
overalls, these heavy, manure-spotted shoes, this greasy, shapeless
straw hat, with its dozen matches showing their red heads over the band,
the good soils and fertilizers of Kansas resting placidly in his ears
and the lines of his neck--such a Romeo might not tempt his Juliet; he
must spruce up.

On an aged soap-box behind the house, several inches of grey water in
a battered tin-pan indicated a previous effort. He tossed the greasy
liquid to the ground and from the well, near the large, home-built
barn, refilled the make-shift basin. Martin's ablutions were always a
strenuous affair. In his cupped hands he brought the water toward
his face and, at the moment he was about to apply it, made pointless
attempts to blow it away. This blowing and sputtering indicated the
especial importance of an occasion--the more important, the more
vigorously he blew. Today, the cold water gave a healthy glow to his
face, which, after much stropping of his razor, he shaved of a week's
growth of beard, tawny as his thick, crisp hair where the sun had not
yet bleached it. This, he soaked thoroughly, in lieu of brushing, before
using a crippled piece of comb. The dividing line between washed and
unwashed was one inch above his neckband and two above his wrists. Even
when fresh from a scrubbing, his hands were not entirely clean. They had
been so long in contact with the earth that it had become absorbed into
the very pores of his skin; but they were powerful hands, interesting,
with long palms and spatulate fingers. The black strips at the end of
each nail, Martin pared off with his jackknife.

He entered the house a trifle nervously, positive that his only clean
shi