utmost unconcern. "Maybe Rose Mary knows. Women generally carry a
reticule around with 'em jest to poke facts into that they gather
together from nothing put pure wantin'-to-know. Ask her."

And as he spoke Uncle Tucker began to busy himself getting out the
grease cans, with the evident intention of putting in a morning
lubricating the farm implements in general.

"Your friend, Mr. Gideon Newsome, said something about a rumor of
paying phosphate here in the Harpeth bend when I met him over in
Boliver before I came to Sweetbriar. In fact, I had tried to come to
look over the fields just to kill time when I nearly killed myself and
fell down upon you. Do you suppose he could have sent the prospector?"
Again Everett brought Uncle Tucker back to the uninteresting topic of
what might lay under the fields, the top of which he was so interested
in cultivating.

"Oh, I reckon not," answered Uncle Tucker, puffing away as he laid
out his monkey-wrenches. "The Honorable Gid is up to his neck in this
here no-dram wave what is a-sweeping around over the state and pretty
nigh rising up as high as the necks of even private liquor bottles.
Gid's not to say a teetotaler, but he had to climb into the bandwagon
skiff or sink outen sight. He's got to tie down his seat in the state
house with a white ribbon, and he's got no mind for fooling with
phosphate dirt. He's a mighty fine man, and all of Sweetbriar thinks a
heap of him. Do you want to help me lift this wagon wheel on to this
jack, so I can sorter grease her up against the next time I use her?"

"Say, Uncle Tuck, Aunt Viney says for you to come right there now and
bring Mr. Mark and a spade and a long string with you," came just at