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Petrak, Buckrow, and the long lime-juicer was all pretty thick when no one was lookin' at 'em. And they don't let on to know each other, neither. Askin' one another their names when I was standin' by, and soon as my back was turned thick as flies at a molasses-barrel, sneakin' round and whisperin'. "'Who's the red chap? asks Long Jim from Buckrow, when he knows I can hear.
Samson Laud raised his head, covered with close curls of light red hair, and his rasped red face out of the molasses-barrel, gave one quick glance full of acutest sarcasm of humor at Cyrus Robinson, then disappeared again into sugary depths, and resumed his scraping. Jerome, on his homeward road, did not feel his spirit of defiance abate. "Wonder how we're going to pay that interest money now?
Two old farmers were standing by the stove, talking to each other in a drone of extreme dialect, almost as unintelligible, except to one who understood its subject-matter, as the notes of their own cattle. The clerk, Samson Loud, was at the other end of the store, cleaning a molasses-barrel from its accumulated sugar.
"The trouble isn't with the house rules but with you. A fellow might as well try to monopolize the wheat-pit on the board of trade as to keep you alone here. You're too confoundedly popular, Hough! You draw people as the proverbial molasses-barrel attracts flies." The big man laughed. "Your compliment, if that's what it was, is a bit involved, but I suppose it'll have to do. Lead on!"
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