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 job," she calculated. "It's been 'vaporatin' away in the sun."

"I'll mix up some if you've got the ingredients," he offered, with the modest way of a man who knew his job.

"You can mix dip, can you?" She eyed him shrewdly, as if to penetrate his bluff. "Where did you learn at?"

"I put in four years at the best agricultural college in the world," he replied, not so much boastfully as with confident pride.

"Oh, you're one of them chemical farmers," apparently fully and satisfactorily enlightened now. "Well, I guess that helps, but I don't know how much. We used to have an old feller with us when Mr. Duke was alive, back on the farm in Iowa. He never had done a day's work of farmin' in his life before we took him in, but you couldn't mention anything to him he couldn't do. 'Sure I can,' he used to say, cheerful and bright; 'sure I can do it. I'm an old soldier.' I'm afraid you chemical farmers are a good deal like that old feller."

"The general public opinion agrees with you," Rawlins admitted, neither disposed to argue down her prejudices nor defend his qualifications.

"Runnin' a band of sheep on the range is the only way anybody can learn the business in this country, no difference what they teach in college. You seem to have sense enough to 'a' got that through your head already."

"Thanks," said Rawlins, turning to her with his