"You really ought to go, Jim. It would
be such a satisfaction to her. Never mind
what Tiny says. There's nothing the matter
with Cuzak. You'd like him. He isn't a
hustler, but a rough man would never have
suited Tony. Tony has nice children -- ten
or eleven of them by this time, I guess. I
shouldn't care for a family of that size my-
self, but somehow it's just right for Tony.
She'd love to show them to you."

On my way East I broke my journey at
Hastings, in Nebraska, and set off with an
open buggy and a fairly good livery team to
find the Cuzak farm. At a little past midday,
I knew I must be nearing my destination.
Set back on a swell of land at my right, I
saw a wide farmhouse, with a red barn and
an ash grove, and cattle yards in front that
sloped down to the high road. I drew up my
horses and was wondering whether I should
drive in here, when I heard low voices. Ahead
of me, in a plum thicket beside the road, I saw
two boys bending over a dead dog. The little
one, not more than four or five, was on his
knees, his hands folded, and his close-clipped,
bare head drooping forward in deep dejection.
The other stood beside him, a hand on his

[[371]]

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