“What’s your grouch?” Jerry asked, seemingly puzzled by Bob’s manner. “Aren’t you going to welcome me home any better than that?”,
Jerry went on with his story. “She told me I ought to be ashamed of myself, big, husky boy that I was, roaming around doing no useful work. Wanted to know why I didn’t stay there and help with the harvest and work for my living. This wasn’t the first time that I had been handed out the same sort of chatter. But I fell for it this time—she was sort of homely and nice. The only thing I was afraid of was the Denver Kid. I knew if I didn’t go back with something to eat he would come and find me and lick the stuffing out of me. I told Mrs. Olson—that was her name—that I would have to go but that I’d come back that night. For a moment I don’t think she believed me, but at last she let me go, giving me quite a lot of grub.,
“Well, you are early enough I hope. I want to say this much, Johnny Blossom, that I won’t have it on my conscience that you should eat any half-rotten apples—and there are usually a good many half-rotten of this kind—but those that are cracked or bruised you may have, for they won’t keep anyway.”.
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