"I suppose so."
"I'll shoot you the whole works at once. Name, Richard Livingston
Sherwood. Years, twenty-four, but alleged not yet to have reached the
age of discretion. One of our young flying heroes who helped save
France and make the world safe for something or other by flapping his
wings over the endless alkali of Texas. Occupation, gentleman farmer."
"You a farmer!" exclaimed Larry.
"A gentleman farmer," corrected Dick. "The difference between a farmer
and a gentleman farmer, Captain Nemo, is that a gentleman farmer makes
no profit on his crops. Now my friends say I'm losing an awful lot of
money and am sowing an awfully big crop. And according to them,
instead of practicing sensible crop rotation, I'm a foolish one-crop
farmer--and my one crop is wild oats."
"I see," said Larry.
"Of course I do do a little something else on the side. Avocation. I'm
in the brokerage business. But my chief business is looking after the
Sherwood interests. You see, my mother--father died ten years before
she did--my mother, being dotty about the innate superiority of the
male, left me in control of practically everything, and I do as well
by it as the more important occupation of farming will permit. Which
completes the racy history of myself."
"I'm sorry I can't reciprocate.
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