Willis Brindley

“ When things happen to people, things happen to them, and that’s all there is to it.
They summoned courage, finally, to discuss details. He could sleep in the loft—up there with Spud Dugan, the man-of-all-work about the place. Spud wouldn’t like it, and the boy wouldn’t care for Spud’s snoring, but they would have to put up with one another. He probably smoked tailor-made cigarettes. Ducky went to get a carton. He probably would be one of those fellows that’s always got to be washing himself. ”

“ Driving a Ford that has no front bushings, on a road that is composed chiefly of ruts with a generous sprinkling of crags that must be leaped, is a man-sized job by itself. When he finally resumed, it was via a third party. He addressed his remarks to Ducky, hollering them from the side of his mouth.
“You didn’t know I was getting a washing-machine, did you?”
“No, and I don’t care for it any,” came a jolted answer. “Seems to me we’re getting all-fired civilized lately. Next thing I know you’ll be sending away for a woman.” ”

“ At the end of the day that followed, Percival again ate his dinner, pushed back his plate and dug into his right-hand trouser pocket, producing this time three nuggets.
“Getting better,” he said, and started toward the ladder, but this time Dog called to him.
“Of course a nugget now and then don’t really mean anything.”
“They’re good for money,” said Percival calmly. “After I get enough of them, I can trade them for three hundred dollars, and that’s what I need to get back to New York.”
Dog looked at Ducky, and Ducky at Dog. Dog spoke.
“That’s all you want, is it? Three hundred dollars?” ”

“ A man always pans that shovelful.”
It worked beautifully. Next evening, Percival was hungry again, tired, but there was about him an air of elation, elaborately concealed. Dog, getting an early start again, planted two more nuggets, and on the following day, the final two from the pouch. At the close of each day upon which a planting had been made, Percival was hungry, tired but elated, and elaborately concealing his elation.
Ducky had another idea, an idea unique for sheer craziness. He led Percival, with elaborate caution, onto the side porch, and pointed to the washing-machine. ”

“ It was a house of goodly size, made of native Montana timber such as is found along stream-beds, with a kitchen and bedroom on the first floor, and a loft above, reached by a ladder nailed to a side wall. Percival dropped onto a bench in the kitchen. Spud set about putting away stores in a cupboard. Dog found a hatchet and tore the crate from the washing-machine.
“What-in-the-hell-is-it?” demanded Spud testily.
“Washing-machine,” Dog told him. “Genuine Old Faithful, twenty-four fifty, F. O. B. factory. She’s a peach. Swishes the clothes back and forth, and the dirt settles in the bottom.” ”

“ Your method is too slow—you don’t get over enough dirt in a day. We’ll start in the morning, early, just you and me, and we’ll take this washing-machine up the creek a bit and plant her solid, and shovel dirt and gravel into her. ”

“ He pulled the letter from the pocket of his shirt, shucked the many closely written leaves from the envelope and read the concluding sentences. “‘And so, because I know that you would refuse, yet dare not give you an opportunity to refuse, I have arranged for Percy to start West on the day after mailing this letter, and of course you will arrange to meet him; and while your life must be rude and living-quarters of the roughest, we are sure that the change will be just what he needs. ”