Young farmers seldom address their wives by name. It is always
"you," or "she."

Having got his wife out of the way, Lou sat down on the step and
began to whittle. "Well, what do folks in New York think of William
Jennings Bryan?" Lou began to bluster, as he always did when he
talked politics. "We gave Wall Street a scare in ninety-six, all
right, and we're fixing another to hand them. Silver wasn't the
only issue," he nodded mysteriously. "There's a good many things
got to be changed. The West is going to make itself heard."

Carl laughed. "But, surely, it did do that, if nothing else."

Lou's thin face reddened up to the roots of his bristly hair. "Oh,
we've only begun. We're waking up to a sense of our responsibilities,
out here, and we ain't afraid, neither. You fellows back there
must be a tame lot. If you had any nerve you'd get together and
march down to Wall Street and blow it up. Dynamite it, I mean,"
with a threatening nod.

He was so much in earnest that Carl scarcely knew how to answer
him. "That would be a waste of powder. The same business would
go on in another street. The street doesn't matter. But what have
you fellows out here got to kick about? You have the only safe
place there is. Morgan himself couldn't touch you. One only has
to drive through this country to see that you're all as rich as
barons."

"We have a good deal more to say than we had when we were poor,"
said Lou threateningly. "We're getting on to a whole lot of things."