AN ARGUMENT ON THE MONEY QUESTION.
THE anon is here. Last Tuesday evenin, arter I had milked and swept and
washed up the supper dishes and done many other things I have to do day
in and day out, year in and year out, arter Jobe had done his waterin
and feedin and choppin of wood, we both found ourselves settin before
the fire, me a knittin, him a settin and studyin.
Says I to him, all of a suddent, loud and quick like:
“Jobe, what yer studyin bout?”
You ort a seen him jump. He was skeert. I spoke so suddent and quick.
He hemmed and hawed a minit or so, got up and turned around, sat down,
spit in the fire, crossed his legs, and says, says he:
“Well, Betsy, Ile tell you what I was a studyin about. I was jist a
studyin about the mortgage and the interest and the fust of Aprile.
Aprile, Betsy, is nearly here, and where is the money a comin from to
pay the interest and sich?”
I saw he was troubled; but all I could say was: “Well, indeed, Jobe, I
dont know.”
And I dont.
It seemed, now, as I had Jobe started, waked up as it were, he wanted to
talk, and I was willin that he should, even though it wasent a very
pleasant thing to talk about.
[Illustration: “Me a knittin, him a settin and studyin.”]
Says he: “Betsy, I sometimes think we will never git our farm paid for.
It seems to be a gittin harder and harder every year to make payments.
It has took all we raised to meet the interest for the last four years;
we haint been able to pay anything on the mortgage; and this spring I
dont know where we will git the money to pay even the interest. It takes
twice as much wheat, or anything else, nearly, to git the money to pay
the interest with as it use to, and crops haint any better. Besides,
Betsy, if I was to sell the farm to-day, it wouldent bring much above
the $2,100 we owe on it. When I bought it for $3,800, fourteen years
ago, I thought it cheap enough, and it was if times hadent got so hard
and things we raise so cheap. Jist to think, we have paid $1,700 on the
first cost, and $2,100 in interest besides, and if we had to sell it to
pay the mortgage we would not have a dollar left. Congressman Richer
could foreclose at any time; he could have done so for the last three
years—ever since I failed to make the payments on the mortgage.”
“Well, Jobe,” says I, “it is bad enough, to say the least.”
“Yes, Betsy,” says he, “if we cant meet the interest, Banker Jones tells
me, we will be sold out.”
I was silent.
Jobe continered: “I tell you, Betsy, these times, six per cent. interest
is hard to pay. It seems that, no matter how cheap a farmer has to sell
what he raises, interest dont get any cheaper.”
Thinks I, “Now is my time to speak.”
“Jobe,” says I, slow and deliberate, lookin him square in the eyes,
“Jobe Gaskins, haint you a American citizen? Haint you jist as good a
citizen as a banker? Haint you jist as honest? Haint you jist as
hard-workin? Haint you got as much rights in these here United States?”
Jobe was silent, but lookin straight at me, starin.
Continerin, says I: “I was a readin in my paper, the other day, that the
banker borrowed money from this here government for one per cent. The
very money he loans you and your likes at six and seven and eight per
cent. he gits from this here government for one per cent. You, Jobe
Gaskins, ort to have jist as good right to borrow money from this here
government of yourn and his as he has, if you give good security and
will pay it back, and God knows you would, as honest as you are. Jist to
think, Jobe, if you could have borrowed the money from the government to
have paid Congressman Richer for his farm fourteen years ago, when we
bought it, at only one per cent. interest, and only paid back to the
government, at the post-office, or some other place appointed, the same
as you have paid Congressman Richer in payments and interest, we to-day
would have our farm nearly paid for and be out of debt, and you wouldent
be a settin and studyin about the mortgage and interest and the fust of
Aprile. Or even if you could borrow the money to-day from the government
at two per cent., you could git the $2,100, pay it off, and next year
only have to raise $42 interest instead of $126. Dont you see it would
be easier for you to pay? And you could pay a little on the mortgage
every year, as hard as times are?”
While I was a sayin all this Jobe was a lookin at me, a starin, turnin
on his seat, spittin in the fire, crossin fust one leg, then another,
waitin for me to stop. I seen he was teched; so, when I had done, I sot
back in my cheer, and begin to knit, and waited for what was a comin. He
begun slowly, but warmed up as he proceeded. Says he:
“Betsy, I have lived with you for nigh onto thirty-five years; we have
allers lived in peace, though you was a Dimicrat and I was a Republican;
we have had our sorrows and our hardships, and now, arter all these
years of peace, am I to pass the last days of my life with a pardner who
is allers talkin like them blamed Populists? You know, Betsy Gaskins,
that I am a Republican and expect to die one. I believe that all the
laws made by the Republicans are just laws. If they made laws to lend
the banker money at one per cent. it must stand, and I will try to bear
my burden, though I have to pay six per cent. interest or more, if need
be, for the same money. Betsy, you must stop readin them papers. I never
look into one; they jist start a feller to thinkin, and the fust thing
he knows he dont believe a thing he has been a believin all his life. It
ruins a feller’s perlitical principles. If a feller is a Republican, he
should be one and never read anything to cause him to think. Them
Populists, Betsy, is jist made up of a lot of storekeepers and farmers,
and men who work in shops and mills and coal-banks and sich places. They
dont know anything about makin laws, or money or bizness. Our
law-makers, Betsy, should be lawyers and bankers and rich business men
and sich.”
Well, I jist saw it was no use argyin with him, but I thought I would
have the last word, as I allers do, and says I:
“Well, Jobe Gaskins, if you ignorant farmers haint fit to make the laws
to fix the taxes you pay; if you farmers haint fit to make the laws to
govern yourselves; if you farmers haint fit to transact the bizness in
which you should be most interested, I think you ort to begin to prepare
yourselves until you are fit, by readin what hasent been done for you
that ort to have been done, and what has been done agin you that hadent
ort to been done.”
[Illustration: “‘Talkin like them blame Populists’.”]
At that, bein ready, I skipped into the bed-room and in a twinkle was in
bed with the kivers drawed up over my head. If Jobe said any more I
heard it not. In a few minits I was asleep, where I must soon be agin.