When he saw Emil, Amedee waved to him
and called to one of his twenty cousins to take
the reins. Stepping off the header without
stopping it, he ran up to Emil who had dismounted.
"Come along," he called. "I have
to go over to the engine for a minute. I gotta
green man running it, and I gotta to keep an
eye on him."
Emil thought the lad was unnaturally flushed
and more excited than even the cares of managing
a big farm at a critical time warranted. As
they passed behind a last year's stack, Amedee
clutched at his right side and sank down for a
moment on the straw.
"Ouch! I got an awful pain in me, Emil.
Something's the matter with my insides, for
sure."
Emil felt his fiery cheek. "You ought to go
straight to bed, 'Medee, and telephone for the
doctor; that's what you ought to do."
Amedee staggered up with a gesture of
despair. "How can I? I got no time to be sick.
Three thousand dollars' worth of new machinery
to manage, and the wheat so ripe it will
begin to shatter next week. My wheat's short,
but it's gotta grand full berries. What's he
slowing down for? We haven't got header
boxes enough to feed the thresher, I guess."
Amedee started hot-foot across the stubble,
leaning a little to the right as he ran, and waved
to the engineer not to stop the engine.
Emil saw that this was no time to talk about
his own affairs. He mounted his mare and rode
on to Sainte-Agnes, to bid his friends there
good-bye. He went first to see Raoul Marcel,
and found him innocently practising the
"Gloria" for the big confirmation service on
Sunday while he polished the mirrors of his
father's saloon.
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