BETTY, THE DRIVIN ANIMAL.
EVER since we got that letter from Congressman Richer, demandin his
$2,100 by the fust of Aprile, Jobe has been scourin the country fur and
near tryin to borrow the money, and, poor man, he is worse destracted
than ever. Things haint like they use to be. Nobody seems to have any
money to lend. He finds lots of people a huntin money, but nobody a
findin any. He has been to Sandyville, and Mineral Pint, and Zoar, and
way up in Stark County as fur as New Berlin, and nary the man has he
found with $2,100 to lend on good security.
What to do Jobe dont know, nor neither do I.
Jobe says he will write to Mr. Richer and git him to wait a little
longer, until times pick up a little.
“But,” says I, “Jobe, when will times pick up?”
And the poor man, lookin at me sadder than he has since he become my
dear husband, says, says he:
“Betsy, the Lord only knows—I dont.”
And I think Jobe is right.
Well, we—that is Jobe and me, the two old parties—have decided that the
interest will have to be paid whether the $2,100 is or not. So Jobe has
been a rakin and a scrapin to raise what he could, and I have been a
rakin and a scrapin to raise what I could.
We sold Betty the other day, the only drivin animal we had; sold her for
only $42.
As the stranger went a leadin her away Jobe and me both sot down and
cried. We both loved Betty. We had raised her from a colt. She was a
purty colt, and so lovin like, Jobe he named her for me. We had intended
to always keep her, and since our little Jane was taken from us we jist
loved Betty as if she was a child. And, poor Betty, I know she loved us.
When the stranger started to lead her away she jist looked back at Jobe
and me, so pleadin like, as much as to say: “Dont let him take me away
from you!”
[Illustration: “Jobe and me both sot down and cried.”]
When I seen that look my heart come up in my throat, and I jist couldent
hold in any longer. I busted out a cryin, and so did poor Jobe. We both
sot there and cried and looked at our poor Betty as fur as we could see
her, and she kept a lookin back at us, nickerin—tryin to speak the best
she could.
Ever since she has been gone my heart keeps a comin up in my throat, and
tears keeps comin in my eyes every time I think of her. I know it is
foolish and no use, but I cant help it.
I know the interest has to be paid if it takes everything we have, but I
cant help cryin when I think poor Betty is gone from us forever—yes,
gone for interest.
Well, with the $42 for Betty and twenty-six bushels of wheat and
twenty-eight bushels of corn and $14 worth of sheep, and the only brood
sow we had, and 96 cents’ worth of old iron, Jobe has been able to raise
$92.34, arter payin Banker Jones the discount for cashin the notes he
took for the sheep and the sow, and Jobe says he cant think of another
thing to sell. I jist up and says, says I:
“Jobe, its awful. Poor Betty gone for interest; our wheat gone; nearly
all our corn; our sheep gone; our brood sow; and what will we have to
show for it when the interest is paid? Nothin. We will owe jist as much
on the mortgage as before. But Jobe, dear,” says I, “I will help you all
I can to raise the balance. I will spare you a dozen hens, though layin
time is just here. And there is my carpet rags, that I wanted to git
made into a new carpet for the spare room; we might sell them for
something. And I have them two new quilts I made last fall a year. I can
spare them by patchin up the old ones to last a year or so longer. I
see, too, Jobe, that feathers are a good price, considerin the times; we
could sell all the feathers we have in our pillers, if you think you
could sleep on straw pillers awhile, until times git better. If you say
so, Jobe, Ile gether all these things up and we will take them to town
and sell them for what we can git. The Lord knows, Jobe, I am willin to
do all I can to help you raise the interest money.”
As I looked at him I saw big tears rollin down his wrinkled cheek.
Whether he was thinkin of poor Betty, or me a sellin the pillers, or
what, I dont know. He said nothin, but turned aside and walked out
toward the barn. I saw him usin his hankercher as he went.
Now, though I be crazy on what I read in them noosepapers, though I be
so crazy that I dream about it, I would like to ask you if my dream
about the new money plan, and the county treasurer, and borrowing money
at two per cent., though that dream, Bill Bowers and all, come from the
mind of a crazy woman, sleepin alone—I say, wouldent it be a godsend to
Jobe and his likes if he could go to the county treasurer this spring
and if, by givin the same kind of a mortgage he gave Congressman Richer,
he could git the money to pay Mr. Richer off at only two per cent.? Next
year our interest would only be a little over $40.
And, oh, how that lump comes up in my throat when I think that if we had
had sich a law this Aprile we need not have sold poor Betty.
Would it not be better to have a State law authorizin our county
treasurer to receive deposits, and loan money at a low interest, even if
we had to take tax off from money to do it, than to have people sellin
the things they love, doin without the things they ort to have, and
losin their homes? Who would sich a law hurt? Congressman Richer and his
likes would git their money if they wanted it, and Jobe and his likes
would be able to pay two per cent. interest and some on the mortgage
every year. And jist to think, if interest was less, the difference in
interest alone would pay off all the mortgages in this county in a few
years.
Then people would live in homes of their own, in homes with no mortgages
on them.
Everybody would be out of debt and happy. But Ime talkin crazy agin and
will have to stop until Jobe and me gits back from town.