At this Horace began to look seriously worried. The idea that any one
could get away from him anything that he possessed, especially without
his knowledge, was terrible to him.

"What do you mean, Mr. Grayson?"

He had been calling me "David," but he now returned sharply to "Mister."
In our country when we "Mister" a friend something serious is about to
happen. It's the signal for general mobilization.

I continued to look Horace rather coldly and severely in the eye.

"Yes," said I, "I've acquired a share in that field which I shall not
soon surrender."

An unmistakable dogged look came into Horace's face, the look inherited
from generations of land-owning, home-defending, fighting ancestors.
Horace is New England of New England.

"Yes," I said, "I have already had two or three crops from that field."

"Huh!" said Horace. "I've cut the grass and I've cut the rowen every
year since you bin here. What's more, I've got the money fer it in the
bank."

He tapped his fingers on the top of the wall.

"Nevertheless, Horace," said I, "I've got my crops, also, from that
field, and a steady income, too."