Murfree came back from Seattle. Bud Gregory dozed contentedly in a chair tilted back against a tree before his door. When Murfree waked him to discuss what was needed, Bud looked uncomfortable but stubborn.
“Mistuh Murfree,” he said doggedly, “you’re a good friend of mine. I reckon you’ the best friend a man ever had. You pay me ten dollars a day, rain or shine, and I’m settin’ pretty. I’m satisfied. I don’t want no more money. I don’t want nothin’ excep’ what I got. You been mighty good to me, Mr. Murfree, but when you get started talkin’ about doin’ something about those things up in the sky that nobody ain’t even seen yet, you’ askin’ me to go to a lot of trouble over somethin’ that ain’t none of my business.”
He settled back in his chair, useless and completely contented.
“We’re goi
