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Updated: May 4, 2025
"How much corn did you get?" "Well, I allowed three ears apiece. They're pretty good size. I thought that was about right." Sylvia nodded. "The corn's holding out pretty well," said Henry. "That other later kind will be ready by the time the lima beans are ripe." "That 'll go nice for succotash," said Sylvia, taking another stitch. "That's what I was thinking," said Henry.
"And who's in command here?" demanded Harrod. "I am, for one," said McGary, with an oath, "and my corn's on the ear. I've held back long enough, I tell you, and I'll starve this winter for you nor any one else." Harrod turned. "Where's Clark?" he said to Bowman. "Clark!" roared McGary, "Clark be d d. Ye'd think he was a woman."
"Though Two-thirty-three telephoned a minute ago to say that if the valet didn't bring his pants from the presser in the next two seconds he'd come down the hall as he is and get 'em. Perhaps you'd better stay round." Donahue chuckled and passed on. Half way down the hall he retraced his steps, and stopped again before Sadie Corn's busy desk.
"If this rain'd only get busy we'd have a crop of millet yet," John began. "Corn's going to be mighty high and scarce this fall." Elizabeth did not reply; something in the air warned her to let John do the talking. She had ceased to enter into conversation with him unless something vital made it necessary to speak. The vital thing was not long in forthcoming.
Once the jug was secured, the huskings ceased, and it was a fair contest between the corn's owner and his guests to see how much or how little could be done before the jug-shaped goal was reached. Seated on the floor around the pile each of the huskers sought to make a narrow cut in the corn before him to reach the prize more quickly.
Time, experience, understanding and the daily dealing with ever-changing humanity had brought certain lines into Sadie Corn's face.
We can come down here some time when corn's 'in roastin'' an' have a Coon hunt." "Oh, Sam, wouldn't that be glorious!" said Yan. "How I wish it was now. I never saw a Coon hunt or any kind of a hunt. Do we have to wait till 'roasting-ear' time?" "Oh, yes; it's easier to find them then.
"What are you doing in the cornfield, I should like to know?" "Sometimes I go there to get a few kernels of corn," Dickie explained. "Ha!" Mr. Crow cried once more. "That's where the corn's going! Farmer Green thinks I'm taking it. And so you're getting me into a peck of trouble, young man." Dickie Deer Mouse couldn't help being worried when Mr. Crow said that. And he looked puzzled, too.
"A man simply has to take time to let steers grow into money. We haven't been at it a long enough time. Those big steers will be ready to feed this fall, and corn's going to be cheap. We'd be cutting off our noses to spite our own faces to sell now." "Perhaps," the girl replied bitterly, and went on to the house.
No, Mistress Marcella, ye can tell yer father not tae go sendin' children beggin' for credit whiles he hugs his bar'l. The corn's here safe enough when he chooses to pay for't." Marcella went homewards, her mind a maelstrom of conflict. She knew nothing about money; it had never occurred to her that her father had none, and the cryptic allusion to the "bar'l" was even more puzzling.
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