The Young Fur Farmer
“Skunks!” repeated Tubby, with a gasp of surprise, “do you really
mean to tell me you’re raising a colony of those horrible critters
around here, Ralph,” and at that he commenced to sniff the pure
atmosphere most suspiciously, in a manner to make some of the others
laugh uproarously.
“Wait and see later on,” was all the information Ralph Jeffords
would offer, as they turned in through an open gateway, and motored
up a winding drive that led to the rambling farmhouse.
The boys were immediately impressed with the air of neatness that
seemed to be a leading feature at the Jeffords farm. Evidently, the
farmer was not only a man of considerable means, but he also liked
to surround himself with conveniences such as few dwellers in this
Adirondack wilderness could afford to possess. Running water,
electricity generated by his own plant, gas made at home, and a
dozen other like comforts attested to his good sense.
“You see, my father had to come up here to live long ago,” explained
Ralph, when he heard the others express their surprise concerning
these things so unusual in a district removed from town, “and as he
grew to love the place more and more, he kept installing these
conveniences, until now we are fairly comfortable.”
Tubby felt sure he would like the whole outing first-rate. He even
sniffed the air again vigorously, this time because of a delightful
aroma of cooking that was borne from the kitchen end of the big
farmhouse; for as everybody knew Tubby Hopkins was--well he himself
called it a “connoisseur” when it came to the subject of providing
for the wants of boyish appetites.
At the door a tall gentleman was waiting to receive them. He, of
course, was the father of Ralph, a sunburned man of rugged build,
who looked as though he enjoyed the best of health, thanks to his
outdoor life; and yet many years before he had come up to this
region expecting to make a last fight against insidious disease.
“Glad to know you all, boys,” he told them, shaking hands cordially,
while his eyes glistened with pleasure, for it was not often Ralph
had friends visit him, he being a rather peculiar boy and much given
to keeping his own company.
Supper was soon ready, and although the boys had felt a bit tired
after a day on the train, they were speedily revived once they sat
down to a table that seemed fairly to _groan_ under the weight of
good things.
Tubby actually slyly pinched himself once or twice as he looked at
the wonderful spread, for he feared he was dreaming. Tubby was
already certain he would like the Jeffords farm very much--all but
those skunks, and somehow that worried him. He had had a former
experience with similar little animals that had given him great
trouble, and caused him to be shunned by every boy in camp during
the rest of their stay in the woods.
“Huh! once stung, twice shy,” was the way Tubby put it when he
allowed his mind to travel back again to those sorrowful days of the
past.
Afterwards they gathered in the big living-room, where the
conversation became general. Rob had warned his chums not to attempt
to boast of anything they had seen or done in their capacity as
scouts; but when actually questioned they were at liberty to reply
at length.
Thus a number of events came to be mentioned, and it could be seen
that both Ralph and his father had their interest aroused. In good
time, just as Sim anticipated, the subject of photography was
brought forward.
“Oh! yes, Sim!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly, “you promised to let me
take a look at a bunch of pictures you and some of the other fellows
took--I think you said they were of wild animals you had met in the
woods. Would you mind getting them now, while we have time?”
“I’ll be only too glad to do it, Ralph,” came the ready reply.
“While I’m about it, Rob, I might as well fetch the little package
of war scenes you fellows managed to snap off over in Belgium and
France when you were there; also of the Panama-Pacific Exposition at
San Francisco.”
Ralph looked doubly eager on hearing this.
“Do you mean to tell me, Rob, that you’ve been across the sea, and
actually in the fighting zone where the Germans and the French and
British are scrapping to beat the band?” was what he flashed out.
“We had that great good fortune,” replied the leader of the Eagle
Patrol, modestly; “and saw a lot of things we’ll never forget to our
dying day. I’ll tell you more about them while you’re looking over
our little collection. They’re not the best pictures we’ve ever
taken, because you know we had only a tiny vest pocket edition of a
camera, and had to snap most of them off on the sly, for we would
have been arrested if caught doing it openly. I see you have a fine
reading glass here on the table, and with that you can get a lot of
good detail work.”
“Well, I begin to see that I’m going to get real enjoyment out of
this visit you and your chums are paying me, Sim,” acknowledged
Ralph, frankly.
When later on the pictures were being examined in detail, and there
was always some story connected with every one, he repeated this
expression a dozen times. Sim or one of the others had a lively yarn
to tell of many of the animal pictures--how Mr. Coon, for instance,
was induced to snap off his own likeness while in the act of
stealing a tempting bait, a cord causing the trap to spring, and the
flashlight to flame up, considerably astonishing the invader; also
little adventures of their own while stumbling along through the
darkness to set a snare for some wary old fox that would never come
near the camp.
Ralph enjoyed these reminiscences hugely. They were quite in line
with his own fads, and more than once he exchanged glances with his
father as though to admit that possibly more enjoyment could be had
in hunting with a camera than while “toting” a murderous shotgun
through the woods in order to kill off the innocent little beasts
and birds that dwelt there.
Then, when the war pictures were being shown, how eagerly did he ask
dozens of questions, for every boy has it in him to yearn to see
military manœuvres, perhaps a battle royal; though after passing
through one such experience his ideas are apt to change radically.
Rob was able to give quite graphic descriptions of numerous
thrilling things he and his chums had witnessed, yes, and even
participated in. He told these modestly enough, as though it was
only a matter of course that scouts should lend a helping hand, and
to assist field hospital surgeons take care of desperately wounded
men of both sides who were being brought in by streams.
At another time Ralph might have felt considerable doubt regarding
the authenticity of these accounts. Somehow, after witnessing the
prompt manner in which Rob had taken care of that unlucky boy thrown
from the vehicle, and suffering not only a broken arm but a
dislocated shoulder as well, it seemed only natural that a wideawake
young chap, such as he realized the scout leader to be, should prove
equal to even greater emergencies.
Long and earnestly did he scan those small pictures that in many
ways revealed the fact that Rob had indeed been in the war zone,
close to where terrible battles were being daily fought to prove
whether the ideals of the Teuton or those of the Allies were to
prevail from that time forth in the world.
Finally, Rob grew tired of talking. He turned the tables by starting
Ralph into telling some things connected with his unique enterprise
of fur farming. Once this subject came to the front and the farm boy
was all animation, for it could be easily seen that his heart was in
his peculiar profession.
“I’d always had ideas on the subject,” he went on to say, “but only
a couple of years ago commenced to put them into practical
operation. Dad gave me a hundred of his wildest acres that could
never be used for anything else, and we had the tract fenced in,
even going down several feet so as to keep my foxes from ever
digging a burrow, and escaping in that way.”
“Did you catch or buy your first pair of blacks?” asked Rob.
“Well, as there hasn’t been a wild black fox seen around this
neighborhood for twenty years and more, though plenty of common red
ones,” Ralph explained, “we had to invest some big money for the
first pair. But they had a litter of pups, and it happened that the
little chaps came true to color, all right, though they sometimes
revert back to the old stock, you know. So we got started, and by
trading, selling, and buying I now have just sixteen foxes in my
pen, some young, and others ready to donate their pelts this Fall,
if the market quotations hold up.”
“About what price do you call a good one?” asked Sim.
“Oh! all the way from five hundred up to fifteen hundred dollars,”
said Ralph in the most unconcerned way possible; at which Tubby’s
eyes widened, and he exclaimed:
“Gingersnaps and popguns! but you surely don’t mean that amount of
money for just one little black fox skin, Ralph?”
“Why, certainly,” the other assured him, smiling at Tubby’s
amazement. “There have been extra fine ones that brought as much as
three thousand dollars. I never expect to raise such expensive
stock. I’m counting on five hundred as the basis of my calculations;
and if you’re fairly successful in raising your litters, there’s
good money in the business at that. Besides, it’s great sport in the
bargain to one who really loves animals, and knows more or less of
their cute ways.”
“Five hundred dollars for just one little skin!” Tubby was heard to
mutter, as though that struck him as most remarkable. “Well, if you
keep along as you’re going, Ralph, I can see you getting to be a
second Rockefeller before you’re fifty. Now, I don’t suppose a skunk
is quite as valuable an article, though the fellow brave enough to
handle him deserves a fortune, according to my notion.”
“Oh!” laughed the other, “we’re glad to get from one to three
dollars for a skunk pelt, according to whether it’s jet black, or
striped. Most of them are striped, you know. But wait and you’ll
learn more about these things later on.”
“Then it’ll have to be at considerable distance for me, I guess,”
affirmed Tubby, with a look of resolution on his broad face, and a
determined shake of his head.
Upon being encouraged to narrate some of his interesting experiences
while engaged in his odd calling, Ralph gladly complied. The scouts
showed deep curiosity as they plied him with questions. Evidently
there was a good chance for a fair exchange of notes, and it looked
as though both sides would be all the richer for this barter.
It was found that an extra large room had been set aside for the
boys, with two generous double beds in it. There were four windows,
so they were sure to have an abundance of fresh air while up at the
farm.
When retiring for the night, at about ten o’clock, amidst sundry
yawns, and more or less stretching of arms, the quartette from
Hampton seemed to agree on one particular thing. This was to the
effect that their stay in the mountains promised to be one of the
most interesting and entertaining of all their experiences. There
were so many new things for them to see, and the environments seemed
so particularly home-like-with royal fare thrown in, Tubby wanted
them to remember as they gave thanks--that a feast awaited them.
Some of them wished they had come for a month instead of just one
week. But the vacation season was nearing an end, and they had
certain duties and engagements around Hampton that could not be
longer deferred.
So they finally climbed aboard their several big beds, and Tubby
tried to get the wonderful things he had been hearing out of his
mind, so he could go to sleep.