Sam slices his fork through the roast beef.  “Two forties of woodland where the house sits,” he says.  “Then, we have fifty forties of farmland on this side of the road and close to a hundred across from it.  I know it doesn’t look like much, but we live a very simple life, Mr. Simms.”

“Oh, please, call me Bart.”

“Boy!” Sam barks, glaring across at Bud.  “Did you wash your hands?  That’s grease I see, isn’t it?  How many times have I told you-”