'
"'Where's this farm at?' I says.
"'Over in Franklin County,' says Peewee. 'I'm goin' over--want to go
'long?'
"'You're on,' I says. 'I'm not particular who travels with me any
more.'
"We gets off the train next mawnin' at a little burg called Goodloe,
'n' there's three or four niggers with three or four ratty-lookin' ole
rigs to drive hossmen out to the sale. It's a fierce drive, 'n' the
springs is busted on our rig. I thinks we'll never get there, 'n' I
begins to cuss Peewee fur bringin' me.
"'What you got to kick at?' says Peewee. 'Ain't you gettin' a free
ride? Cheer up--think of all the nice plows you're goin' to see.'
"'You take them plows to hell 'n' make furrows in the cinders with
'em,' I says, wonderin' if I can get a train back to Loueyville anyways
soon.
"But when we gets to the farm I'm glad I come. Man, that was some
farm! Miles of level blue-grass pasture, with white fences cuttin' it
up into squares, barns 'n' paddocks 'n' sheds, all painted white, just
scattered around by the dozen. There's a track to work hosses on, too,
but it's pretty much growed up with weeds. The main house is back in
some big trees. It's brick 'n' has two porches, one on top of the
other, all the way around it.
"The sale is just startin' when we get there. The auctioneer is in the
judge's stand at the track 'n' the hosses is showed in the stretch.
"The first thing to sell is brood mares, 'n' they're as good a lot as I
ever looks over.
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