"Water the tomatoes and the cucumbers today, and don't forget the greenhouse behind the barn."
He was carrying the watering cans from the well. Each time he made a trip, he earned 2 cents. That was his father's idea of deserving pocket money. Back and forth, back and forth. The evening was hot; the night would again be tropic. The pump was broken, and his father was unwilling to pay for the spare parts.
That evening he earned 5 dollars. His father deducted 2 for food and bills. He put the remaining 3 in his tin. He was worn out. 250 water trips.
"Dad, I have saved some money, I could give you half, and we could get the pump fixed."
"You bloody son, do you think I steal money? You are becoming lazy to bring that bit of water to my plants... go to your room. Now."
I lifted the pen from the paper. What a pathetic story. No one reads novels like this. This whole writer's business is a nonsense. And this bloody summer, it is so hot. Why is it so hot? I should have convinced Alfred about the cactus farm. Definitely easier to earn some money. CHARLES AND ALFRED DICKENS CACTUS FARM. PERFECT CACTI FOR YOUR WILD WEST YARDS.