barnyard in the direction of the old mill and saw the smoke coming
from the steam shovel that Mr. Brady had placed at the lower end of
the ditch, ready to start operations. Brady evidently intended to do
the work in the shortest possible time, for while Bob was still
looking, the operator started the machine, and Bob saw the shovel sink
deep into the soft earth and a moment later swing over to the north
side, and the first yard of dirt had been removed. He even forgave the
contractor for his attempt to drive a sharp bargain in his written
contract, though he remembered Brady's embarrassment when his uncle
pointed out the defects in his written agreement and hastily signed
the corrected one made by John White.
Bob could scarcely realize that it was little more than a week since
the eventful Saturday afternoon he had spent fishing in the old pond.
He was whistling merrily as he brought out the horses to start the
spring plowing.
"I don't like to spoil that merry tune of yours so early Monday
morning, Bob, but I've been in a quandary for several days to know how
to tell you that it isn't going to be possible for you to go to the
wedding," said his uncle. "You see, some one will have to stay on the
place while we're away, and your grandmother and grandfather ought to
go, and, of course, I'll have to be there myself," he laughed.
"That's all right," replied Bob. "Of course, I'd like to go to the
wedding, but I'll have lots of time to get acquainted with Aunt Bettie
afterwards, and, besides," he added, glancing at the sun coming over
the hill, "we ought to get our spring plowing started as soon as
possible. I was just wondering, Uncle Joe," he added, "who we could
get to look after the sand pit and start making fence posts. I was
reading in one of the 'Concrete on the Farm' bulletins how they're
made. It isn't going to be much of a job to receive the tickets for
sand and gravel that Mr. Brady'll take away, and the man in charge can
spend practically all of his time making fence posts. He ought to make
at least 20 posts each day--that would mean that in a month we would
have 520 posts--enough for 520 rods of fence--or in a year 6240 rods."
"But you couldn't make fence posts in cold weather, Bob," corrected
his uncle.
"Why, yes, you can, Uncle Joe, if you have an enclosed shed with some
heat in it. The bulletin tells all about how to do concrete work in
cold weather."
"Well, I'll look around to-day, Bob, and see who I can find. I have to
go to town at noon to attend to some business. You have to get a
license, you know, so I'll have to attend to that before I forget it.
Shall I plow around for the first time or two for you, Bob?" asked his
uncle, as they hitched the team to the plow.
"No," said Bob. "I'd like to try it myself," and he guided the horses
along the fence for the first furrow.
The field they had selected was the one lying just back of the barn,
and Bob had completed three sides and was coming along the fourth,
which adjoined the fence between the woodshed and the house. His
uncle, who was washing the buggy, looked up and noticed that he was
leaving considerable space between this fence and his furrow.
"Why are you leaving such a large space in the corner, Bob?" he
called, as the team came abreast of where he was working.
"I was leaving a space for a new hen house, Uncle Joe," he replied.
"What new hen house?" asked his uncle.
"Oh, didn't Aunt Bettie tell you when she was here that we talked
about the location for a new hen house, and she thought it ought to be
put out here in this field between the house and the barn, so that it
would face to the south," answered Bob.
"Why, no, I guess she must have forgotten to mention it to me," said
his uncle, "but I don't think we'll be able to afford any new
buildings on the farm this year, Bob."
"I'm not so sure about that," replied Bob. "You know, Mr. White said
the First National Bank was going to be run as a constructive bank and
that he would be willing to loan money on any permanent improvements,
and that he wanted to make a model farm of yours this year. Besides,
you remember what I told you he said about the value of our sand and
gravel pit."
"Yes, Bob, but look at the work we have contracted for already; don't
forget how many loads of sand and gravel it will take to pay for
that."
"That's so," said Bob, "but Mr. White didn't seem to be so much
concerned about the amount we spent for improvements as what we spent
it for. He seems to be anxious to have us fix the old farm up and
believes it will pay."
"That's all right for you and John White," added his uncle, "to talk
of making this a model farm in a year, but it's my name that's going
to be on the notes, and some fine morning when we get all these
improvements made, he may drive out here and take the model farm away
from me for the notes."
"I don't think John White would do such a thing," said Bob stoutly.
"Besides, why should he call his bank a 'Constructive Bank,' if he
used it to destroy other people's hopes? I should think he would call
it a 'Destructive Bank,' instead."
"Well, maybe so," said his uncle. "Anyhow, it won't hurt any one to
let that little corner go undeveloped for the present, till I talk it
over with your Aunt Bettie. It may please her if we carry out her
suggestion."
"Why're you so quiet, Bob?" asked his grandmother at dinner that day.
"One would think it was you that was getting married instead of your
Uncle Joe, sitting there as solemn as an owl and not saying anything.
Has the cat run away with your tongue so soon?"
"Why, no," said Bob. "I was just thinking."
"You weren't feeling badly because you weren't going to the wedding,
were you?" asked his uncle, looking up.
"No, Uncle Joe, I wasn't. I was just wondering if they might have some
bees at the sale to-morrow."
"Bees!" exclaimed his grandmother. "What in the world do you want with
bees? Isn't it bad enough around the farm already with yellow-jackets
and bumble-bees, without bringing any more here? I should think you
would get stung enough by the wild bees without wanting to bring a lot
of honey bees to the farm."
"Yes, grandmother, but you forget that the wild bees don't make any
honey, or earn anything for us, and honey bees would be earning money
all the time. I've been reading in one of the farmers' bulletins that
a good colony of bees would make 30 pounds of honey in a season, which
at 20 cents per pound would be worth $6.00, and the only thing we
would have to do would be to look them over carefully and smoke them
once in a while when they swarmed," he replied.
"Say, Bob, did John White put these bees in your bonnet?" asked his
uncle suddenly.
[Illustration with caption: BEES ARE A PROFITABLE SIDE LINE THAT PAY
IN INCREASED CROPS OF FRUIT AS WELL AS HONEY AND REQUIRE LITTLE CARE]
"No, it was an idea I got out of one of the farm bulletins," he
replied.
"Well, I think you had better give up reading those bulletins for a
while, and keep your mind on your plowing," said his uncle.
"Why, didn't I do lots of work this morning, Uncle Joe?" asked Bob
surprised.
"Yes, of course; but I mean you can't work and think both," said his
uncle.
"Why not, Uncle Joe? Don't you remember what Mr. Dow, the insurance
man, said about the farmers that didn't think?"
"Well, anyhow, I draw the line at buying bees," replied his uncle
firmly.
"Yes," added his grandmother. "I don't want any bees around here,
spoiling the fruit."
"But, grandmother, you haven't waited to find out what I'm going to do
with them," said Bob. "I don't want to put them around the house. I
want to put them between the clover meadow and the young orchard, and,
besides, they don't spoil the fruit. It's the other insects that do
that. A honey bee couldn't do that if it wanted to."
"Bob," asked his uncle, showing an interest for the first time, "why
do you want to put them away over there?"
"Because I've been reading in the farm bulletins that the reason
orchards have such poor crops of fruit is because they don't have
enough bees to pollinate the blossoms. The bulletin said that every
orchard should have a number of colonies of bees. Of course, the
nearer the bees are to the blossoms the more honey they'll make,
because the distance is short; besides, if we put them at the edge of
the orchard next to the meadow when the clover is in bloom, they could
work on the clover, too, just as easy as the orchard blossoms, and
they'd make a lot of honey," he declared.
"Well, Bob, you certainly have been reading those books," said his
grandfather, glancing up from his paper. "Between your own work, Joe,
your new wife and your chore boy," he said, "you're going to lead a
pretty busy life this summer, if I don't miss my guess."
"Well, why not, grandfather?" demanded Bob.
"No reason in the world, my boy, and you've hit the nail square on the
head by locating the hives between the orchard and the meadow. A bee
can probably make four to five times as much honey in a season there
than if we put the hives out back of the barn or in some other place
near the house."
"I'd like to please you in this matter, Bob, if I could," said his
uncle, "but you know how things are this year. We're doing so much
already that I don't feel as though I could spare a dollar to invest
in bees."
"But, Uncle Joe, I haven't asked you to invest anything in bees. I was
only wondering if there'd be some bees for sale. You know I have
$72.97 myself on deposit at the First National, and I was wondering
whether you'd be willing to let me buy the bees and take enough time
off to look after them for the benefit the orchard would get. I've a
notion that the bees could earn more for me than the money will earn
at interest."
"Now, that's what I call real 'git up and git'," said his grandmother,
suddenly forgetting her prejudice against bees, in admiration of the
scheme.
"Well, if they've any at the sale, how many do you want me to buy,
Bob?" asked his uncle.
"I should think five or six good colonies would do to start with, and
they ought not to cost more than ten dollars each, provided they're
good and healthy."
"How the dickens am I to know whether they're good and healthy, Bob?
You don't want me to knock at their door and say, 'Good morning bees;
how do you find yourself this morning'?"
"Of course not," laughed Bob. "I forgot you don't understand bees."
"But, how would you get them here?" asked his uncle, suddenly
realizing that hauling hives of bees around the country might not be a
pleasant job, and also that the farm to which he was going was some
eighteen miles away.
"Well, of course," said Bob, "it would cost something to haul them,
but maybe they've an automobile truck and you could pay a little more
and have them delivered."
"All right, Bob, I'll look into the matter and let you know when I
return," said his uncle.
After supper, when the chores had been done, Bob went over to look at
the ditch. He was astonished to find how much work had been
accomplished. A clean-cut trench with uniform banks on either side and
the new bank leveled on top 125 feet long had been dug. He didn't know
how much a caterpillar steam shovel was worth, but at the rate the
contractor figured for the ditch, he would have $610.00 left over,
after paying the operator and engineer each $5.00 per day, for six
days' work, which Bob thought ought to be enough to cover their wages,
and adding $5.00 per day for fuel, making $90.00 in all. Machinery was
certainly the thing to handle work quickly and cheaply, for after
deducting the cost of bringing the shovel to the job and taking it
away again, the contractor would make a handsome profit, and he was
more impressed than ever with the conversation he had overheard
between Mr. White and Mr. Dow regarding power on the farm.
Bob was at supper with his grandparents when his Uncle Joe returned
from the sale the next evening, but instead of taking a half day, as
he had thought, he had used up an entire day.
"I thought you were going to get back at noon, Uncle Joe," said Bob.
"Did they have any bees to sell?"
"How many colonies did you ask me to buy, Bob?" asked his uncle
laughing.
"Five or six," said Bob.
"Well, I got them for you all right, but there's not five or six. They
had twenty-two and they wouldn't sell one without selling all. So I
bought them all for $50.00, which you see is less than you said you
were willing to pay for six and they're going to deliver them, too, in
modern sectional hives. They are three-banded Italian, whatever that
means, with one or two exceptions they say the colonies are in a good
healthy condition."
"That's fine," said Bob, so excited he was scarcely able to eat his
supper. "What else did you buy?"
"Well, Bob, if I go to the poorhouse, there'll be no one to blame for
it but you and John White."
"Why, how's that?" asked Bob's grandfather, looking up quickly.
"Well, it was like this: when he got me down there he not only
persuaded me to buy the ten young Holstein cows and a bull, but he
induced me to buy five Berkshire brood sows and two four-year-old
Belgian mares. He wanted me to take a flock of Southdown Ewes and a
ram, but I didn't buy them--there's no money in keeping a few sheep."
"Were they nice-looking sheep, Joe?" asked his father, who was very
fond of sheep.
"The finest I ever saw, father, but I didn't want to go so far in
debt."
"Then who bid them in, Joe?" asked his father.
"Bob."
"Me!" asked Bob, looking up suddenly.
"Yes, John White bought them for you and said he would be willing to
advance the money to pay for them, and you could pay him back later.
He said they were too good a bargain to lose."
"But I've no farm for them to run on," said Bob, "and it wouldn't be
fair for me to pasture them on your land, Uncle Joe."
"I was thinking of that," said his uncle.
"Well, the only fair way, Uncle Joe, would be for you to take the
sheep yourself, for it wouldn't be fair for me to keep them on your
farm. Besides, I'll be busy enough with the bees."
"And the chickens," added his uncle.
"Why, did you buy some chickens, Uncle Joe?"
"Yes, that confounded John White made me buy nearly everything on the
place. I bought fifty single-comb white Leghorn pullets and three
cockerels. Also ten white Plymouth Rock pullets and one cockerel, also
an incubator and brooder. The chickens," added his uncle, "are for
your Aunt Bettie. Since you're going to build a new hen house I
thought we'd better get some good chickens."
Bob was so excited now that he left the table and rushed up to his
room to get out the farm bulletins that showed the best types of hen
houses. When he returned his uncle and his grandfather were busily
talking.
"Joe," remarked his father, "I'm afraid you're getting in pretty deep
with John White putting these notions into your head about modern
farming. Don't forget you owe me $2000.00 on the farm, which, with all
the other things you've bought, you must be terribly in debt."
"I was afraid you'd feel that way about it, father, and I told White
so," he replied.
"He probably don't care, as long as he was getting you to borrow his
money and sign his notes," said his father.
"That's where you do him an injustice, father," replied his son. "He
said the first thing I should do would be to pay you off, and as it
don't make any difference whether I pay interest to you or the bank,
he loaned me enough money to pay you off, so the next time we go to
town we'll fix the matter up. I told John White if I went broke he'd
be the one to suffer."
"What did he say?" asked his father.
"He only laughed and said, 'I'll take a chance on you, Joe, since I've
met the woman you're going to marry and that boy you've got on the
farm. If the pair of them don't make you "git up and git," then I'll
miss my guess.'"
"H'm," sniffed his mother, "it's little that Betsy Atwood knows about
farming, with her high-fangled New England notions and Farm Bulletin
Education. H'm!"
"Now, mother," said her son, "people aren't living on farms any more
the way they used to. Farms must be made attractive and work must be
made easy, if people are to live on them. That's why you're leaving
yourself."
"Nobody ever accused me before, Joe Williams, of not doing my share of
work. Your father and I toiled all our lives and this is how much you
appreciate it."
"But I tell you, mother, farmers aren't satisfied to get along in the
same way they used to. The farmer is human and wants comforts and
pleasures in life just as well as anybody else, and I'm beginning to
believe that John White was right when he made me buy an automobile
to-day."
"What!" almost shouted his mother. "Joe Williams, you've gone plumb
crazy. John White has bewitched you!"
"No, he hasn't, mother. I knew you'd feel that way when I told you
about it, and that's one reason I want to pay you off first, so you
won't lose anything if I fail."
"Whatever induced you to buy an automobile, Joe?" asked his father,
while Bob sat staring, unable to believe his ears.
"Well, it was like this: On the way back from the sale he said, 'Now,
Joe, this ought to give you a pretty good equipment by the time you
get your new buildings put up."
"What! Is he suggesting new buildings?" demanded his mother. "As if
the buildings we used aren't good enough for our children." "It was
like this," Joe continued, ignoring the interruption; "as we were
driving back in the car, he said, 'Now, Joe, I want you to remember
you're marrying a young woman who has been accustomed to going about a
bit, and will have to get away from the farm occasionally in order to
be happy, and you've one of the most enthusiastic boys on your farm
I've ever met, but his enthusiasm will not keep up if he's to be tied
down tight. What you need is an automobile, so you can go to church,
and in the evening, when your work is done, you can go for a drive, or
run in and see the movies. I don't mind telling you there are two
reasons why I'm recommending this car to you. First, I want you to
find out for yourself what miserable roads there are in this county
and why they should be paved with concrete. Second, I want you to make
it so pleasant on the farm for your wife, and later for your children,
that they'll always want to stay there--for we must keep our boys and
girls on the farm if this country is to prosper. The trouble has been
farmers have not realized the old saying, "All work and no play makes
Jack a dull boy." That's why the farms are deserted. There's one
restriction, though, I'm going to place on you, and that is that the
car is never to be run during working hours, except such as your wife
might use it to drive to market, and the car must be sheltered in a
building and kept clean. I don't want to ever see you drive in to town
with a car all covered with mud. Now, if you're willing to do that,
I'll advance you enough money so you'll have a complete outfit.'"
"Well, I suppose you signed up for it," said his mother hopelessly.
"Yes," laughed her son. "I thought I might as well take the automobile
along with the other things, mother."
"H'm!" sniffed his mother. "Joe Williams, I'll give you six months
until the sheriff sells you out. I never thought I'd raise a son who
would turn out to be such a fool," and she burst into tears.
"Now, now, mother, you're all wrong in this matter," said her son,
going over and taking her in his arms. "I'm not doing this simply
because I love Betsy Atwood but because it's good business, and,
besides, I want to make her life pleasant. It's the modern idea,
mother; it's the right way to do, and I think John White is right. The
reason farmers' boys and girls refuse to stay on the old farm is on
account of the few amusements they get. Don't you worry about the
sheriff selling me out, for if I live I can easily make a go of it,
and if I should die suddenly, I've a $10,000.00 life insurance policy
in the Farmers' Mutual that will pay off the mortgage and leave
something for Bettie besides. Of course, it cost something to take out
a policy of $10,000.00; everything of value costs, but an insurance
policy that pays off the mortgage, if I happen to die, relieves me of
all worry. It would have been a risk without insurance, but I feel
safe now."
IX
POWER AND BANKING
Everything was hustle and bustle on the farm on Monday morning, March
twenty-seventh, for this was to be Joe Williams' wedding day.
Bob was up at daylight, milked his cows and finished his chores before
breakfast. At nine o'clock his Uncle Joe and grandparents left for
town, where they would take the ten o'clock train to Greensburg, where
the wedding was to be solemnized at noon.
As previously arranged, Bob stayed on the farm to look after things
and finish plowing the ten-acre field adjoining the barn, which had
been started two days before. It was scarcely nine-thirty when he
turned and started back along the north side of the field. He glanced
in the direction of the barn and beheld an unusual sight. A small
automobile had been driven into the barnyard and close behind it came
the most unusual looking piece of machinery he had ever seen. He
stopped his team and stood leaning on the plow, wondering what it
might be. The driver of the automobile, whom he recognized as John
White, president of the First National Bank, jumped from the car and
opened the gate of the field in which Bob was plowing and a moment
later the machine entered. It crossed the ground he had already plowed
on the west side of the field and entered the furrow; then swung
around with its side toward him. He now recognized the apparatus--it
was a tractor gang plow, and as it went along, he saw it was throwing
up three furrows at a time. As he watched it go he could not help
noticing how much faster it moved than his team of horses was capable
of doing. He was so lost in admiration of the speed and ease with
which the plow did its work that he did not notice the banker coming
toward him until he stood beside him.
"Well, what do you think of that, Bob, for a plow?" asked the banker
laughing.
"Some plow, Mr. White," said Bob, taking off his hat and running his
fingers through his sandy hair, while he still kept his gaze riveted
on the tractor which now turned the southeast corner and started up on
the east side of the field.
"Better turn your team out of the furrow, Bob," advised the banker,
"and let the tractor get ahead of you. I want you to follow it around
the field, so you can see how much faster it travels than your team."
Bob had scarcely turned his team out before the tractor came up
opposite them, and with a wave of the hand and a cheery good morning,
the operator of the machine went by the admiring boy and the smiling
banker.
"Now get your team in behind him, Bob, and see if you can catch him,"
said the banker.
Bob had not gone more than a few rods before it became evident to him
that his team would never overtake the fast-moving tractor. In, fact,
before he had gone half the distance, the tractor was up behind him
again on the second round, so he turned his team out again to let it
go by. This time, however, the operator brought the machine to a stop
and said:
"Come over and have a look at her, young man."
"This is Mr. Patterson, of the Farmers' Harvester Company, Bob, with
their latest model tractor plow. Show him how to operate it,
Patterson," said Mr. White, "and then let him take it around the field
himself."
"Oh, but I couldn't run a piece of machinery like that," protested
Bob.
"Sure you can. That's why we brought it out here," said the banker.
"Oh, no, I'm sure it would be too complicated for me," protested Bob.
"That's where you are mistaken," said the agent, jumping down from the
operator's seat. "Come here and I'll explain the mechanism to you in a
few minutes."
After he had finished, he turned to Bob and said:
"This thing is so simple, it'll run itself, except at the corners,
where you'll have to operate it to turn."
"How do you mean, run itself?" asked the unbelieving boy.
"Well, I'll show you," said the agent, as he adjusted one or two of
the levers, and, much to Bob's astonishment, the tractor set off down
the field by itself.
"Why, how do you do that?" he asked, staring open-mouthed after the
disappearing tractor.
"Come down to the corner and I'll show you," said the agent.
"But I can't leave the team," said Bob.
"Oh, I'll take care of the team," said the banker laughing. "You go
down and operate the plow."