hand. Then looks through forge--goes to bench
near dog, and gets on hands and knees, looking under it._

DAVE. What you lost?

JIM. Here it is--[_Rises._] Some more of that gumbo. [_Crosses to
forge._

DAVE. What you goin' to do?

JIM. Burn it. [_Looks about as if hunting help._] Here--come pump
this.

DAVE _crosses and takes bellows._

DAVE. What do you want to burn it for?

JIM. [_Ignoring question._] Say, Dave--

DAVE. [_Working bellows._] Well?

JIM. You know them old coal mines down by Jonesburg?

DAVE. Yes.

JIM. What do they sell that slack for?

DAVE. They don't _sell_ it--they _give_ it to anyone that'll haul it
away.

JIM. I wonder if they wouldn't deliver it if you took a good deal.

DAVE. Don't know.

JIM _whistles cheerily a moment and examines gumbo burning._

JIM. [_Pause. Sitting on anvil._] You seem under the weather, Dave.

DAVE. [_Moodily._] Oh, I'd be all right, if I had a stidy job.

JIM. [_Laughing._] A steady job!--why, you've been workin' nights ever
since I knew you.

DAVE. I know--but Joe says--I--I ought to have a stidy job.

JIM. What's Joe got to do with it?

DAVE. Well--Lizbeth--

JIM. [_Amused._] Oh!

DAVE. An' I think I could get one, only he don't gimme no time off to
look fur it.

JIM. Wait a minute. [_Takes gumbo from fire._] Yes, sir--she's gettin'
hot. [_Puts it back and whistles a tune._

DAVE. I've almost made a set o' furniture myself.

JIM. Have, eh?

DAVE. Dug it out with that little draw-knife. I tell you--you can
make anything that's made out of wood--with a draw-knife.

JIM. [_On anvil again._] Well, it seems to me, Dave, that you're going
at it the wrong way.

DAVE. How's that?

JIM. The old man won't give his consent till you git a steady job.

DAVE. That's it--

JIM. And you want a steady job so's you can marry Lizbeth?

DAVE. Exactly.

JIM. Well, you marry--marry Lizbeth, and you'll have a steady job.
[_Gets down._ DAVE, _absorbed with the idea, pumps vigorously._] Hold
on! [DAVE _stops;_ JIM _takes gumbo from fire with tongs, and plunges
it in the water._] Yes, sir, there it is--hard as a rock--and ain't it
a purty color?

DAVE. What you goin' to do with it?

JIM. I don't know but if the Wabash could get enough of it to ballast
that track that washes out every spring, I think they'd take it.

DAVE. [_In admiration._] Well, I'm durned. The raw gumbo is all along
their track. Wouldn't cost you nothin', would it?

JIM. N