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Updated: June 23, 2025
Green, to the extent of being somewhere around Dry Lake, with a good team that you will drive for hire and some samples of oats and dry-land spuds and stuff that you raised on your claim " She eyed him sharply for one so endearingly feminine. "Would you do it? There'd be a salary, and besides that a commission on each doubter you landed. And I'd just love to have you for one of my assistants."
"Well, move! If it was you tied in a knot with cramp, yuh wouldn't take it so serene." "Aw, gwan. I got troubles enough, cooking chuck for this here layout. I got to have some help and lots of it. Patsy ain't got enough stuff cooked up to feed a jack-rabbit. Somebody's got to mosey in here and peel the spuds." "That's your funeral," said Cal, unfeelingly.
With one hour they will be under-done and spotty, with three over-done and weakly. There is lots to be discovered yet about "the spuds." Sawdust is an excellent mulch for them, as for small fruits. When you store any seeds to plant, put carbolic moth balls with them. It checks insects and mice and helps to protect the planted seeds from birds.
There would be a preliminary interval of three, possibly four, years at Cambridge, during which I presume, you would be learning divers facts concerning spuds, turmuts, and the like. At least, said Psmith airily, 'I suppose so. Far be it from me to dictate the line of your researches. 'Then I'm afraid it's off, said Mike gloomily. 'My pater couldn't afford to send me to Cambridge.
Instead of being fed on the transcendental philosophy of Plato, I was stuffed with mealy Irish spuds and home-grown "punkin" pie. When I should have been learning to relish pate de foie gras and love my neighbor's wife in a purely passionless way, I was following one of McCormick's patents around a forty-acre field or arguing a point of ethics with a contumacious mule.
In grass-green duds we'll plant the spuds, where they can do no growing; with flat and sharp we'll play the harp, and keep the music going. Then let us yell, for all is well, the world's devoid of sorrow; the toads are snared, the snakes are scared, it's Patrick's day tomorrow. First I thought I'd call him Caesar; but my Uncle Ebenezer said that name was badly hoodoed wasn't Julius Caesar slain?
She reached for an olive. "Go as far as you like, native son. He's no friend of mine." "Well, in that case, I'll spare his life," he countered boldly. "And I've always wanted to kill a Japanese potato baron. Do you not think it would be patriotic of me to immolate myself and reduce the cost of spuds?" "I never eat them. They're very fattening.
Dick asked. "A man by the name of Westcote. He is an Englishman, so I believe. He seems to have full charge of everything. He must have been the man you saw at the Sign of the Maple with Tim Parkin, for he has a daughter with him, who recently came to the city." "But what has Spuds to do with the concern, and how did he come to meet this man Westcote?" "He is evidently in his employ.
An', that may be more'n of a job than straightenin' crooked rails what the storm washed away, as I must be doin' to onct. Too big a job to be tacklin' on empty stummicks, betoken; so here, the two of yez, fall in an' taste this bread an' meat an' couple o' cold spuds, an' let me get on to me own affairs."
This speech was accompanied by a gesture evidently intelligible, for the dog retired as though he understood English, and the cooking proceeded. "I'll take a pick an' shovel with me an' root up that old blackfellow," mused the shepherd, evidently following up a recent train of thought; "I reckon it'll do now. I'll put in the spuds."
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