Winston had around
him the best men that dollars could hire, and toiled tirelessly with
the grimy host in the whirling dust of the thrasher and amid the
sheaves, wherever another pair of hands, or the quick decision that
would save an hour's delay, was needed most.
As compared with the practice of insular Britain, there were not half
enough of them, but wages are high in that country, and the crew of the
thrasher paid by the bushel, while the rest had long worked for their
own hand on the levels of Manitoba and in the bush of Ontario, and knew
that the sooner their toil was over the sooner they would go home again
with well-lined pockets. So, generously fed, splendid human muscle
kept pace with clinking steel under a stress that is seldom borne
outside the sun-bleached prairie at harvest time, and Winston forgot
everything save the constant need for the utmost effort of body and
brain. It was even of little import to him that prices moved steadily
upward as he toiled.
At last it was finished, and only knee-high stubble covered his land
and that of Maud Barrington, while, for he was one who could venture
fearlessly and still know when he had risked enough, soon after it was
thrashed out the wheat was sold. The harvesters went home with enough
to maintain them through the winter, and Winston, who spent two days
counting his gain, wrote asking Graham to send him an accountant from
Winnipeg. With him he spent a couple more days, and then, with an
effort he was never to forget, prepared himself for the reckoning.
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