THE BOYS MAKE A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
To Bob every mile of the western journey was a step into Wonderland;
novel sights, novel ideas confronted him on every hand and viewed
through the medium of his enthusiasm things that had become
threadbare to Van became, as if by magic, suddenly new. The
greatness of the country was a marvel of which Bob had never before
had any adequate conception. Then there were the cities, alive with
varying industries, and teeming with their strangely mixed American
population. Above all was the amazing natural beauty of scenery
hitherto undreamed of. Hour after hour Bob sat spellbound at the
window of the observation-car, never tiring of watching the shifting
landscape as it whirled past. His interest and intelligence caught
the notice of a gentleman who occupied the section opposite the
boys, and soon the three formed one of those pleasant acquaintances
so frequently made in traveling.
Mr. Powers (for that was the stranger's name) was on his way back to
his farm in Utah, and very eager was he to reach home.
"So many things on the place need my attention that the journey you
are delighting in seems very long to me," he remarked to Bob one
morning as they came from the dining-car.
"Is your farm a large one, Mr. Powers?" questioned Bob.
Mr. Powers smiled.
"It is larger than you would want to build a fence around," he
returned humorously.
"I suppose you have all sorts of cows and pigs and horses on it, and
raise every kind of fruit and vegetable that ever was invented," put
in Van mischievously.
Mr. Powers shook his head and looked not a little amused.
"No. We have only enough stock for our own use--nothing fancy. I do
not go in for show farming. I raise only one thing on my land, and
I'm going to see if you are clever enough to guess what it is."
"Alfalfa!" cried Bob instantly.
"No. How did you happen to think of that?"
"Oh, I've read that lots of western farmers raised it."
"True enough. It wasn't a bad guess, but it was not the right one,"
said the stranger. "Now suppose we hear from your chum."
"Corn."
"Still wrong; but you are getting warmer."
"Wheat."
"Wheat is not as good a random shot as corn."
"It must be a vegetable," declared Bob thoughtfully. "Let me see.
Not potatoes?"
"No."
"Of course it couldn't be peas, or beans, or squash, because you
said once you had hundreds of acres, and you would never raise any
of those things in such large quantities," argued Van. "Spinach,
tomatoes--"
"I have it!" cried Bob. "You should have guessed it the first thing,
Van."
"Why?"
"Can't you think? With your father right in the business you ought
to."
"Beets," exclaimed Van.
"Beets it is!" agreed Mr. Powers. "So your father is interested in
beets too, is he? You don't chance to be the son of Mr. Asa Blake,
do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is a coincidence," observed Mr. Powers much interested. "I
sell all my crops to him. I expect then, young man, you know all
there is to be known about growing beets."
"On the contrary, I don't know a thing," Van confessed laughing.
"Dad has never talked to me much about his business. He is too busy
to talk to anybody," he added a little dubiously.
"It is usually the doctor's children who never get any medicine,"
chuckled Mr. Powers. "Now, I could do better than that for you. I
could tell you considerable about beets if you urged me to."
"I wish you would," answered the boys promptly.
"There, you see, you urge me at once--you insist upon hearing! What
can I do? There is no escape for me but to comply with your request.
Of course I was not expecting to be called upon to speak to-day and
therefore I must crave the indulgence of the audience if I am but
poorly prepared," began Mr. Powers with mock gravity.
"In the first place you must remember that while sugar-cane can only
be cultivated in a hot, moist climate, beets grow best in the
temperate zone. In the United States there is a belt of beet-sugar
land two hundred miles wide that runs irregularly across the country
from southern New England to the Pacific coast. Sugar-beets can, of
course, be grown elsewhere, but it is in this particular region that
they thrive best. If even a small proportion of this area were to be
planted with beets we could get enough sugar from them to enable us
to ship it to foreign markets instead of yearly importing a large
amount of it. The trouble is that we Americans are so rich in land
that we waste it and fail to get from it a tenth part of what we
might. If you doubt that travel in Europe and see what is done with
land on the other side; or, better yet, watch what some Italian in
this country will get from a bit of land no bigger than your pocket
handkerchief."
Mr. Powers stopped a minute and looked out of the window.
"The great objection our people make to growing beets is that they
injure the soil so that nothing else planted afterward will
flourish. Now to an extent this is true. Beets do run out the soil
if they are raised year after year on the same land. If our farmers
were not so slow to get a new idea they would raise beets in
rotation as is done in Europe."
"What do you mean by rotation?" demanded Bob.
"A rotating crop is one that produces a sequence of different kinds
of harvests," explained Mr. Powers. "By that I mean harvests of
entirely varying nature. Abroad they have learned that a hoed crop,
when planted annually, destroys the productivity of the earth;
therefore foreigners plant beets one year in three or five and
cereals, turnips, or something else in between times. Formerly they
used to let the land lie fallow a year to rest it, but now they have
worked out a scheme by which they get a crop every year. It was
Napoleon, that Frenchman of wonderful brain, who first discovered
the value of beets for making sugar, and thought out the plan for
raising them in rotation with other varieties of crops. He commanded
that ninety thousand acres of beets be planted in different parts of
France, and he established in connection with this decree a great
fund of money from which bonuses were to be paid to persons who
built factories to manufacture beet-sugar. He went even further,
furnishing free instruction to all who wished to learn the industry.
In consequence at the end of a couple of years there were in France
over three hundred small sugar factories; little by little this
number has increased until now the sugar product of the French
nation is enormous."
Fascinated by the story Bob and Van listened attentively.
"Didn't other countries steal the idea of the rotating crop?"
inquired Van.
"Not at first. Germany tried to make her farmers believe in the new
notion, but failed," answered Mr. Powers. "Later, however, as an
inducement, the German government helped beet-sugar factories pay
such good prices for beets that the farmers became anxious to raise
them; at the same time a high duty was placed on imported sugar, and
the result was that the German people were forced to manufacture
their own. At the present time about one-half of the sugar used by
all the world is made in foreign factories. I myself run my beet
farm on the rotation principle, and find that the hoed root crops
seem to stimulate the others; but I can't convince my neighbors of
it."
"Does beet-sugar taste any different from cane?" inquired Bob.
"Not a whit; you couldn't tell the difference," was Mr. Powers'
answer.
"I suppose sugar-beets are just like those in our gardens," ventured
Van.
"No, they're not; they are, however, not unlike them. They differ in
having more juice and in usually being white," replied Mr. Powers.
"The ground has first to be plowed and harrowed, and is afterward
laid off in eighteen-inch rows because beets, you know, are planted
from seed. When the crop comes up trouble begins, for it has to be
thinned until each plant has a good area in which to grow; the beets
must also be carefully weeded and the soil round them loosened if
they are to thrive."
"How long is it before they are ready for sugar making?" inquired
Bob.
"Practically five months; it depends somewhat on the season. When
they are ripe they are dug up, the tops are removed, and they are
floated down small canals where washing machines with revolving
brushes remove from them every atom of dirt."
"And then?"
"If they are to be made directly into syrup and do not have to be
shipped in bulk they go into slicers which cut them into V-shaped
pieces about the length and thickness of a slate pencil, these
pieces being called cossettes. The sliced beet-root is next put into
warm water tanks in order that the sugar contained in it may be
drawn out. Built in a circle, these tanks are connected, and as the
beets move from one vat to another more and more sugar is taken from
them until they reach the last vat when the beet pulp is of no
further use except to be used as fodder for live stock. The juice
remains in the tanks, and in color it is--"
"Red!" cried Van, thoughtlessly interrupting.
"No, son, not red. It is black as ink."
"Black!" exclaimed the boys in a chorus.
"Black as your shoe."
"But--but I don't see how they--" Van stopped, bewildered.
"They bleach it by injecting fumes of sulphur gas into the tanks;
lime is also used to--"
"To clear it after the dirt has come to the top," put in the boys in
a breath.
"Exactly so," laughed Mr. Powers. "I observe you are now at the home
plate."
[Illustration: "THESE TANKS ARE CONNECTED"]
"We saw it done at the sugar-cane refinery," explained Bob.
"I see," nodded Mr. Powers. "Well, the principle of making beet-sugar
is the same as cane-sugar. By the use of chemical solutions the juice
is cleared until it is perfectly white."
Bob nudged Van with his elbow and the lads smiled understandingly.
There was no danger of their forgetting Mr. Hennessey and his secret
chemical formula.
"The remainder of the process is also similar to that used in
refining cane-sugar. The syrup passes from tank to tank, constantly
thickening, and the molasses is extracted in the same fashion by
being thrown off in the centrifugal machines when the sugar
crystallizes. Molasses is often boiled two and three times to make
second and third grade molasses for the trade, and you must remember
in this connection that the names _New Orleans_ and _Porto
Rico_ do not necessarily indicate where the product was made, but
rather its quality, these varieties being of the finest grade."
Mr. Powers rose and drew out a cigar.
"I think I'm quite a lecturer, don't you?" he said. "I imagine your
father, Van, could have told you this story much better than I have
if you could have captured him for two hours on a train when he had
nothing else to do. As it is I have had to fill his place, and I
want you to inform him with my compliments that I am surprised to
discover how completely he has neglected his son's education."
With a mischievous twinkle in his eye Mr. Powers passed into the
smoking-car.