“That’s all right, Young Man.  Just bore as many holes as you please.  I suppose you’d rather do that than work; but you’ll have to excuse me.  I’ve got a lot to do today, and it’s already getting late.  I can’t take time again to tell you fellows how to raise tobacco.  Good day.”

CHAPTER XXVI

ANOTHER LESSON ON TOBACCO

The old man had stuck his cob pipe in a pocket and filled his mouth with a chew of tobacco.

He walked by Percy’s buggy with the tobacco juice drizzling from the corners of his mouth, and turned down the road toward the house.

Percy finished boring the hole and then returned to the buggy.

“Christ, that old man eats tobacco like a beast!” exclaimed the driver as Percy approached.

“Are you speaking to me?” asked Percy.

“Why, certainly.”

“That is not my name, please,” admonished Percy, “but I can tell you that I know Him well and that He is my best friend.”

“What, old Al Jones?”

“No,—­Christ,” replied Percy, with a grieved expression plainly discernible.

“Oh,” said the driver.

They drove past the Jones residence and out into the field beyond.  The house one might have thought deserted except for the well-beaten paths and the presence of chickens in the yard.  It was a large structure with two and a half stories.  The cornice and window trimmings revealed the beauty and wealth of former days.  Rare shrubs still grew in the spacious front yard, and gnarled remnants of orchard trees were to be seen in the rear.  A dozen other buildings, large and small, occupied the background, some with the roofs partly fallen, others evidently still in use.

“How old do you suppose these buildings are?” asked Percy of the driver.

“About a hundred years,” he replied, “and I reckon they’ve had no paint nor fixin’ since they was built, ’cept they have to give some of ’em new shingles now and then or they’d all fall to pieces like the old barns back yonder.”

Percy examined the soil in several places on the Jones farm and on other farms in the neighborhood.  They lunched on crackers and canned beans at a country store and made a more extended drive in the afternoon.

“It is a fine soil,” Percy said to the driver, as they started for Leonardtown.  “It contains enough sand for easy tillage and quick drainage, and enough clay to hold anything that might be applied to it.”

“That’s right,” said the driver.  “Where they put plenty of manure and fertilizer they raise tobacco three foot high and fifteen hundred pounds to the acre, but where they run the tobacco rows beyond the manured land so’s to be sure and not lose any manure, why the stuff won’t grow six inches high and it just turns yellow and seems to dry up, no matter if it rains every day.  Say, Mister, would you mind telling me if you’re a preacher?”