"
"Quite right, too," responded Lorne, unabashed. "And so
you've got my friend here back on the farm, Mrs Crow?"
"Well, yes, he's back on the farm, an' when he's wore
out his Winnipeg clothes and his big ideas, we're lookin'
to make him some use." Mrs Crow's intention, though
barbed, was humorous, and her son grinned broadly.
"There's more money in the law," he remarked "once you
get a start. Here's Mr Murchison goin' to run the Ormiston
case; his old man's down sick, an' I guess it depends on
Lorne now whether Ormiston gets off or goes to
penitentiary."
Mrs Crow's face tied itself up into criticism as she
looked our young man up and down. "Depends upon you, does
it?" she commented. "Well, all I've got to say is it's
a mighty young dependence. Coming on next week, ain't
it? You won't be much older by then. Yes'm," she turned
to business, "I don't say but what it's high for rhubarb,
but there ain't another bunch in the market, and won't
be for a week yet."
Under cover of this discussion Lorne bade the Crows good
morning, retreating in the rear of the lady who found
the rhubarb high. Mrs Crow's drop of acid combined with
his saving sense of the humour of it to adjust all his
courage and his confidence, and with a braver face than
ever he involuntarily hastened his steps to keep pace
with his happy chance.
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