"Well-yes-pretty," replied Dad (just as if he was n't quite sure).

After a while Dwyer walked over the "cultivation", and looked at it hard,
then scraped a hole with the heel of his boot, spat, and said he did n't
think the corn would ever come up. Dan slid off his perch at this, and
Dave let the flies eat his leg nearly off without seeming to feel it; but
Dad argued it out.

"Orright, orright," said Dwyer; "I hope it do."

Then Dad went on to speak of places he knew of where they preferred hoes
to a plough for putting corn in with; but Dwyer only laughed and shook
his head.

"D--n him!" Dad muttered, when he had gone; "what rot! WON'T COME UP!"

Dan, who was still thinking hard, at last straightened himself up and said
HE did n't think it was any use either. Then Dad lost his temper.

"No USE?" he yelled, "you whelp, what do you know about it?"

Dan answered quietly: "On'y this, that it's nothing but tomfoolery,
this hoe business."

"How would you do it then?" Dad roared, and Dan hung his head and tried to
button his buttonless shirt wrist-band while he thought.

"With a plough," he answered.