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I know it.

They all hate me, and they all want something, all the time, I can’t say yes, and it ’s hard to always say no. Then there ’s the farm, big, and poor, and all worked out. The Jordans have been taking their living out of this soil for more than a hundred years, and never putting anything back.

Just themselves, that ’s all.

Worked right, like they do out West, this place could be what it ought to be. How can I do that; it needs a man.

I been thinkin’ lately things could be done a whole lot different.

By a man, if he loved the old place— You Jordans robbed this soil always. Suppose one of you tried to pay it back—it would mean work and money, for a couple of years maybe, then I guess you ’d see what gratitude meant.

It could be done; it ought to be.

By you, Ben!

No—I guess I ain’t got the judgment.

You ’ve got it, if you ’d learn to use it.