country.

"I will continue this talk of love," said Telfer, striking at weeds along
the road with his cane and from time to time calling sharply to the dogs
that, filled with delight at being abroad, ran growling and tumbling over
each other in the dusty road.

"That Freedom Smith is a sample of life in this town. At the word love he
drops his feet upon the floor and pretends to be filled with disgust. He
will talk of corn or steers or of the stinking hides that he buys, but at
the mention of the word love he is like a hen that has seen a hawk in the
sky. He runs about in circles making a fuss. 'Here! Here! Here!' he cries,
'you are making public something that should be kept hidden. You are doing
in the light of day what should only be done with a shamed face in a
darkened room.' Why, boy, if I were a woman in this town I would not stand
it--I would go to New York, to France, to Paris--To be wooed for but a
passing moment by a shame-faced yokel without art--uh--it is unthinkable."

The man and the boy walked in silence. The dogs, scenting a rabbit,
disappeared across a long pasture, their master letting them go. From time
to time he threw back his head and took long breaths of the night air.

"I am not like banker Walker," he declared. "He thinks of the growing corn
in terms of fat steers feeding on the Rabbit Run farm; I think of it as
something majestic. I see the long corn rows with the men and the horses
half hidden, hot and breathless, and I think of a vast river of life. I
catch a breath of the flame that was in the mind of the man who said, 'The
land is flowing with milk and honey.' I am made happy by my thoughts not
by the dollars clinking in my pocket.