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Updated: May 23, 2025
A girl gave me a handful of pinto beans and asked me to plant them I did hoe them," he defended tardily to Andy. "I hoed them the day before the Fourth. You know I did. Same time you hoed those lemon-colored spuds of yours." Luck let them wrangle humorously over their agricultural deficiencies, and drifted off into open-eyed dreaming.
You had better speak to him yourself." Again Jerry rubbed his chin. "That's just it what's so beastly hard. I know he'll say I ought to stick to it." "So do I." "Well, I'd rather groom the horse than that." "But think how pleased you were at first!" Jerry ruefully admitted it. "One expects to dig out gold like spuds; while the real thing's enough to give you the blight.
"With all the enjoyment of dust, noise, and smell of gasoline thrown in," his sister sarcastically retorted. "I guess you were most thankful to smell gasoline to-day, though, when Spuds picked you up in that old tub of his. Now, weren't you?" Before Lois could reply Betty suddenly appeared before them. Her face was flushed, and she was panting as if she had been running fast.
I got to get me a dog first, and some hens." Wid Gardner took a hasty but careful inventory of his friend's appearance, his shaven face, his clean hands, his new clothing. "How's your wife, Sim?" he said, grinning. "That lady, she's all right. Left her paring spuds. And I want to say to you, Wid, while I'm away from there, everybody else stays away too." "What, not get to see the bride?
There was Terrence the Magnificent descended, as Van Horn remembered, from the American-bred Milton Droleen, out of the Queen of County Antrim, Breda Muddler, which royal bitch, as every one who is familiar with the stud book knows, goes back as far as the almost mythical Spuds, with along the way no primrose dallyings with black-and-tan Killeney Boys and Welsh nondescripts.
He could help old David and give him a comfortable home for the rest of his life. Why should some men have so much of this world's goods and others so little? he asked himself. Then he thought of Dick, and a contemptuous smile curled his lips. He recalled his feelings the previous day when he had watched the car go by and listened to the salutation of "Spuds."
Dinner: A slice of alleged roast beef or boiled mutton, of no particular colour or taste; three new spuds, of which the largest is about the size of an ordinary hen's egg, the smallest that of a bantam's, and the middle one in between, and which eat soggy and have no taste to speak of, save that they are a trifle bitter; a dab of unhealthy-looking green something, which might be either cabbage leaves or turnip-tops, and a glass of water.
By the way, I saw him this afternoon, and he looked his part all right, ho, ho," and Dick laughed as he gulped down his tea. "Who's that, Dick?" Mr. Sinclair inquired. "Oh, Lois knows," was the reply. "She can tell you all about 'Spuds' as well as I can, and maybe better." "Why should I know?" his sister asked, somewhat sharply. "I only met him once, and that was years ago."
Mis' Beckman sets herself up as a shinin' example on cake, and she'll come just t' be critical an' find fault, if she can. If I can't bake all around her the best day she ever seen, I'll give up cookin' anything but spuds. She had the soggiest kind uh jelly roll t' the su'prise on Mary last winter. I know it was hern, fer I seen her bring it in, an' I went straight an' ondone it.
I think I hilled those spuds, too, with furrows or a crop of Indian corn I put in later on. It rained heavens-hard for over a week: we had regular showers all through, and it was the finest crop of potatoes ever seen in the district. I believe at first Mary used to slip down at daybreak to see if the potatoes were up; and she'd write to me about them, on the road.
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