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."
Handing the lines over to the banker, Bob hurried after the agent, who was racing down the field so as to catch up to the tractor before it reached the corner. Then he stopped the machine until Bob came up. "Now, this is how it's done, Bob. You see this self-steering device down here in the furrow. Well, I set this lever and clamp it over fast and this self-steering device rubs along the edge of the furrow and keeps the plow following the furrow. In big fields in the West, where there's plenty of room and the ground is comparatively level, we always plow around a circle. There's where we use our big fellers," he said smiling. "Fourteen plows in a gang and one man can operate all of them at once."
"You don't mean it," said Bob. "Three or four plows going at once, and each one plowing fourteen furrows. Why, you would plow a field like this in less than a day."
"Less than a day," said the agent. "How long will it take you to finish this field with your team, Bob?"
[Illustration with caption: THE TRACTOR WILL DO THE WORK OF FIVE MEN
AND FIVE TEAMS AND ONLY EATS WHEN IT'S WORKING]
"Well, I expect to get through by noon on Saturday," he replied.
"Well, what do you say if we finish it up by six o'clock tonight?"
"But you couldn't do that, Mr. Patterson!"
"We can't! Well, you just wait till I show you. I want you to get into the seat and run it yourself, Bob; then you can see how it goes."
The boy climbed awkwardly into the machine and adjusted the levers according to instructions.
"I'm sure I won't be able to handle it, Mr. Patterson," he said, as he opened the throttle and the engine started.
"Won't be able to handle it? All you need to do is to sit on the seat and let it go. Now shove this lever and throw in the clutch," suggested the agent, and off the plow started.
"It does run easy," said Bob, as the tractor moved rapidly ahead, the agent walking alongside, talking to Bob as they went.
"Easy!" remarked the agent. "Why, you can run this machine all day,
Bob, and it won't make you as tired in a whole day as doing your
chores. Now, when you get to the corner put your throttle down and
I'll show you how to make the turn."
Bob was a bit awkward, but finally made the adjustment and got the plow to a standstill at the corner.
"You see, Bob," said Mr. Patterson, "when you use a gang plow you don't cut the corners square as you do with a team of horses. You round them off a bit, then you don't need to take the trouble to turn. Now, while you plow around, I'll take your team and plow off the corners."
"You aren't going to let me go around myself, Mr. Patterson?" asked
Bob.
"Certainly, you can run it yourself just as well as anybody," replied the agent. "After I finish with the team, Mr. White and I have some business to do. By the way, can we use your telephone, Bob?"
"Sorry, Mr. Patterson, we haven't a telephone yet," stammered Bob. "I think Uncle Joe'll put one in though when he gets back from his wedding. You see, he's getting married to-day."
"I know he is," said the agent grinning. "That's why we brought the tractor out to-day. We wanted to have a good chance when your uncle wasn't home. When he gets back with his bride, we're going to show him what power can do to a farm."
"Well, I'll take the car," said Mr. White, "and drive over to the Wallace farm and use their 'phone. You see, Bob, we're going to have a little party on your farm. We're going to sort of take possession of the place and have invited some of your neighbors to see the tractor work."
"All right," said Bob. "I'll try it out myself, but if I smash this thing, it won't be my fault."
"Don't worry about smashing it, Bob. Just give her kerosene and keep her going," said the agent.
After the first round or two, Bob became confident of his ability to handle the tractor, and began to realize how quickly and easily plowing could be done by power.
He noticed Mr. White drive back to the barnyard, and as soon as Mr. Patterson had finished with the team, he unhitched them and took them over and put them into the barn, then they sat down in the auto and began to talk, leaving Bob to manage the tractor alone.
When dinner time came he brought the machine to a standstill on the west side of the field nearest to the barn, and, shutting down the motor, came quickly over the freshly plowed ground to the barnyard.
"That's certainly a fine way to plow, Mr. White," said Bob, his eyes sparkling as he contemplated the amount of work done in a quarter of a day.
"Sure is, Bob," said the banker. "The greatest thing I've ever seen. Power certainly does beat horse flesh, and you notice, Bob, we only feed the engine when it is working."
"I can't give you very much of a dinner," said Bob, apologetically, "for everybody's away at Uncle Joe's wedding, but if you'll be satisfied with cold victuals, I guess I can fit you out."
"Bread and butter and a glass of milk is good enough for me, Bob," laughed the banker, as they started for the house.
Bob's grandmother had left him well supplied with food—several apple pies, a boiled ham and a weekly baking of bread had been finished the day before. She had also left the fire in the kitchen stove and the tea-kettle on, so it didn't take Bob very long to make a pot of coffee. He brought some butter and milk from the milk cellar and they were soon enjoying the simple food.
"Bob," said the banker, as he helped himself to a large heel off the loaf and spread it thick with butter and apple butter, "we thought we'd give your Uncle Joe a wedding present by doing his spring plowing for him. We want to surprise him when he comes back, so I arranged with Mr. Patterson to give a demonstration of his tractor on your farm. We sent out some invitations last week to a number of farmers around here, asking them to come here this afternoon, but told them to keep it quiet so your uncle wouldn't find out anything about it. We're going to spend the rest of the afternoon giving each fellow a chance to run the tractor, but to-morrow, just to show you what the tractor can do, Mr. Patterson is going to take it and disk and harrow your ten-acre field back of the cider mill, and then the next day we want you to plow your west bottom field, where your Uncle Joe said he was going to plant his spring wheat this year."
"When you take charge of the tractor, Bob," said the agent, "we're going to let you start with the machine in the barnyard, take it to the field, do the plowing and bring it back again yourself, and unless you have some bad luck, I don't think I'll have to lay a hand on it. Of course, I'll be here in case you need me, but I've a notion the machine will do the trick, without my touching it."
"Why," said Bob a moment later, realizing for the first time what it would mean to have that much plowing done, "our three fields will all be finished before Uncle Joe gets back."
"Not three, Bob," corrected the banker, "four, for we're going to plow your north field, too."
"Isn't that field too hilly for the tractor?" asked Bob.
"No," replied the agent. "I've been looking at it and feel sure we can manage it, although it's a little steeper than we usually recommend for tractors, but we want to demonstrate that our machine will take care of all the fields you have on the farm, with the exception, of course, of 'Round Top,' which ought to be planted in fruit or something instead of trying to raise a grain crop."
"When does your Uncle Joe expect to get back, Bob?" asked the banker a moment later, helping himself to a second piece of pie.
"Thursday afternoon, I think," replied Bob. "They're planning to be back for Sunday."
"Come to think of it, that's right," said the banker. "I overheard him tell Henry Smith, who sold him his automobile, to have the car up at the station to meet the three o'clock train on Thursday. He's evidently going to bring his bride out in style."
"Can Uncle Joe drive the car already?" asked Bob.
"No, I don't think he's going to try to drive out, not on the first trip with his bride," replied the banker, "but I think you can look for them about three-thirty."
"I'd like to be hanging on behind," said Bob, "about the time they come around the bend in the road by the Wallace Farm, and he sees his spring plowing all done."
"That's a joke," laughed the banker, "in which we'd all like to share, Bob, but it won't do him any harm to ride the rest of the distance home wondering how you managed to get it all done."
When they came out from their dinner they found two farmers had already arrived and others kept dropping in by ones and twos, so that before the afternoon was over there were almost two dozen rigs and automobiles standing around in the barnyard.
Much to his delight, Bob was allowed to drive the tractor, while the agent stood among the men and explained its workings.
After a round or two, Bob gave up the seat to a neighboring farmer, who in turn gave way to another, so one by one they tried the tractor.
"Wish he had picked out our farm to demonstrate his plow on," remarked Alex Wallace, as he watched the space in the center of the field rapidly getting smaller. "By the time he's through demonstrating he'll have your field plowed."
"Maybe you could get him to do it for you, Alex," said Bob. "Why don't you ask him?"
"I've already done that," replied Alex, "but he wants to sell us one."
"Well, are you going to buy one?" asked Bob, as they watched the tractor work.
"I don't know what father'll do," replied Alex. "Suppose we'll have to think it over."
When the afternoon sun got low, the banker called the men together in the barnyard and said:
"There's something I want to say to you men. I know that some of you are pretty hard pressed for money just now, and don't feel much like investing in new equipment, but I've recently made a careful survey of the farming conditions in our county and have taken a trip west to look over what they're doing out in Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota and the Dakotas. In fact, I was gone for four weeks last summer, looking over the situation generally, and I've come to the conclusion that we've just as good farms right here in Pennsylvania as they have in any of the western states—only they've gotten ahead of us out there by adopting many modern methods. There isn't a thing they do out there, though, that we can't do right here. Another thing I discovered, and that was that the banks in the West are very much more liberal to the farmers than the banks have been in the East. I don't mind telling you," he said smiling, "that I picked up a number of pointers myself on how to run a bank and when I got back I talked the matter over with our board of directors.
"From now on the First National is going to be run on different principles than we have ever run it before. We're going to do 'Constructive Banking,' which means in plain English that we're going to help you farmers with liberal loans wherever we find a man who's progressive and working intelligently. We're fitting up a special room in the bank that we're going to call our 'Bureau of Farm Information'; we're going to put a capable man in charge of it to answer questions; we're sending down to the Bureau of Agriculture at Washington for a lot of farm bulletins on every subject of interest to you men, also to manufacturers of farm machinery and other appliances that can be used on the farm. The manufacturers of Portland Cement are fitting us up with a complete line of literature on farm buildings and how to build them. In fact, there won't be any information connected with a farm, its equipment or the construction of farm buildings that we won't be able to give you. There's some of you men here who don't do your banking with us—you're just as welcome to the information as the others. We want you to make this your room when you come to town—it will be open every day from eight o'clock in the morning until six o'clock in the evening. There'll be tables there where you can do any writing you want, and a billboard to stick up notices of anything you've got for sale. I hope you'll make good use of the Bureau. Tell your wives we're going to have a special lot of literature for them on canning and evaporation of fruits and vegetables, raising poultry and dairy work and bees. Tell them to come in and use the room as much as they like. We've provided for their comforts."
"Well, it sounds pretty fine, Mr. White," said Billy Waterson, "especially the loans. I'll be in to see you myself on Saturday."
"Yes, come in, Billy, and tell me about your needs," invited the banker. "We'll no doubt be able to help you."
The last of the farmers had scarcely gone when Bob's grandparents came driving up the lane.
"Has any one died, Bob?" asked his grandfather, as soon as he got near enough to be heard.
"Why?" asked Bob smiling.
"Well, I saw many rigs going down the road as we came by the Wallace farm. One or two of them, I thought, came out of our lane."
"No," said Bob, "no one's dead, but," with a wave of his hand toward the newly plowed field, "the old method of plowing with horse flesh passed away this afternoon."
"I noticed, Bob, as soon as I came around the bend in the road that the field was plowed, and I was going to ask you about it. How did you get it done so quickly? Were some of the neighbors over here with their teams helping you?"
"No," said Bob, "come here a minute and I'll show you something," and he took his grandfather, who had alighted from the buggy, over to the wagon shed in which the tractor stood.
"Where'd that come from?" asked his grandfather, looking at it curiously. "Has Joe gone and bought a tractor, too?"
"No, not yet," laughed Bob, "but I guess he will when he gets back and sees how much work it can do."
"They must cost a lot of money, Bob," said his grandfather.
"Not as much as you might think," replied Bob, using the phrase he heard Mr. Patterson use in talking to the farmers that afternoon. "Not when you take into account how much they can do."
"I should like to have seen it work," said his grandfather interested.
"Well, you'll see it, all right," said Bob, "because Mr. Patterson's going to plow the other three fields before he leaves."
"How long does he calculate it'll take him to finish, Bob?" inquired his grandfather.
"He expects to get done by noon on Thursday."
"It can't be done," said his grandfather incredulously.
"Well, he says it can," laughed Bob, "and to-morrow morning you'll see."
X
RUNNING WATER
Bob was up bright and early the next morning and had his chores all done by the time Mr. Patterson came back from town, where he had gone the night before for a supply of kerosene.
As soon as breakfast was over the tractor was driven out to the field back of the cider mill, and, with the agent in the seat, started off on its rounds. In this field corn had been raised the year before, and it would be planted in oats this year, so the plow was omitted and the double disk and spike-toothed harrow used. Bob and his grandfather stood for a half hour watching it work, then Bob went to the barn and got out the team and began plowing the garden, which adjoined the field in which the tractor was working.
When they knocked off at noon, the relative amount of work done by each was very apparent, for the ten-acre field was more than half finished in the same time it had taken Bob to finish less than an acre of garden patch, and by six o'clock the entire field was completed.
The next day Bob took charge of the tractor and succeeded in doing almost as well in plowing their west bottom field as Mr. Patterson had done the day before, although it took him until seven o'clock in the evening to finish the entire ten acres.
Thursday morning everything on the farm was excitement. Bob started to clean up the corners of the west field with the plow and team, while Mr. Patterson started plowing the hilly north field, so that everything would be finished by the time Bob's uncle arrived. It seemed to Bob, as he watched the tractor work, that the hilly field was requiring more time to complete than they had figured, for by noon the field was not much more than half done, so he asked Mr. Patterson at dinner if the plow worked slower on hilly ground.
"Of course, Bob, we can't make the time there that we can on the level, but I've been taking it kind of easy, loafing a little this morning so the tractor would be working when your uncle comes home this afternoon."
In this, however, he was disappointed, for the automobile did not arrive until after five o'clock, an hour after the tractor had been run into the barnyard, where the agent left it and drove to town in his auto.
Bob was in the barnyard waiting to greet his aunt and uncle when Henry Smith drove up. His uncle, however, did not wait until they had alighted to ask Bob the question which was uppermost in his mind, but shouted to him as soon as the car swung up the hill into the yard.
"How in the world did you ever get the plowing all done so soon, Bob?" he called.
Without replying, Bob waved his hand toward the tractor.
"Where'd that come from?" asked his uncle, as he helped his bride from the auto.
"Oh," laughed Bob, as he stepped forward to shake hands with them, "that's another of John White's jokes. He's had nearly everybody in the county out here on the farm while you were away, showing them how easy it is to plow with power."
"Well, Bob, I don't want your Uncle Joe to get married again soon," laughed his new aunt, "but it does seem to have been lucky for him this time, for you've certainly got more plowing done while he was away getting married than he'd have gotten if he stayed at home," as, much to Bob's embarrassment, she suddenly bent over and kissed him. "Things seem to be moving faster on the farm, Bob, since you and your Uncle Joe started working together," she laughed, as they all started for the house.
Bob could not remember any time in his life when he had been quite so happy as he was that night at supper, sitting in silence opposite his new aunt, listening to the story of the wedding and honeymoon. There was something about the frank open smile that she bestowed upon him from time to time which established her in his confidence, and made him feel that the coming summer was going to be a very pleasant one.
He wondered what shape the first suggestion for improvement by his aunt might take, but he didn't have long to wait, for the very next morning at breakfast she turned to her husband and said:
"Have you figured out yet, Joe, how much pipe it will take to bring the water from the spring into the house? I think we should arrange for running water in the kitchen and put in a bathroom, and I have also been thinking that, instead of using the small room beyond the kitchen as a pantry, we could do away with that and fit up a washroom, with a toilet and shower for the men. A farmer is just as much entitled to a shower after his day's work as a golf player and is even more benefited by its use. We could easily make a cellar under it for the hot-water heater and supply hot water to the kitchen, washroom and the bathroom on the second floor, as well as the laundry. I've been looking up the cost of plumbing and don't think the whole thing would cost more than five or six hundred dollars, exclusive of digging the trench."
When his aunt began to speak, Bob scanned the face of his uncle, and he noticed that while his uncle smiled and said he would have to look into the matter, Bob noticed his brow contract in a way that spoke ill of the project being carried out—at least at the present time.
Now that the plowing had been done, it was decided that they would spend a few days in cleaning out the fence rows and repairing fences, and as they were leaving for this work shortly after breakfast, Bob made a discovery. His aunt came into the woodshed where they were getting out their mattocks and brush hooks and said:
"There are a few things I wanted to get in town to-day, Joe, so I'll take the car and drive in."
"Why, you can't drive yet, Bettie," declared her astonished husband.
"Oh, yes, I can," she laughed. "I have my license, too. I learned last summer. While I'm in town, I'll speak to a plumber about the work, and I think, too, we should also have a telephone put in. It will be quite awkward getting along without one."
"All right, Bettie," said her husband. "It will do no harm to get a price on them, even though we won't get them until fall," and he kissed her good-by and started for the field.
She certainly doesn't let her ideas get cold, thought Bob, as he walked along with his uncle, and, after all, it would not cost any more to put the water in now than it would in the fall, and besides they'd have the use of it all summer.
That night after the chores were finished and the supper dishes were put away, his uncle and aunt adjourned to the sitting room, where Bob noticed a fine reading lamp, surrounded by magazines and farm bulletins, had been placed in the center of a large oak table.
"Come into the sitting room, Bob," called his aunt, when he returned to the kitchen after doing his chores. "I want to show you the pictures of our new bathroom fixtures I got from the plumber to-day."
It was only natural that Bob should have wondered just how far his aunt and uncle would take him into their confidence in the planning of the work on the farm, and he was not only relieved but very much pleased at her early invitation to their conferences, having to do with improvements and the expenditure of money. He took it as a compliment to his interest in the farm work, and felt nothing would be too hard for him to undertake while his Aunt Bettie followed the results.
"Here's the plumber's estimate, Joe," she said, opening a letter. "He wants $250 for the bathroom and washroom equipment, including a four- foot white enamel wash sink with soap dishes and tempering faucets. You see, by putting in a sink of this sort, the hot and cold water is mixed as it comes through the faucet, and all the dirty water runs away so that you can always wash in clean water, which is better than filling a bowl. This four-foot sink will allow two people to wash at once. This is the hot-water heater that we will put in the cellar. It will mean the putting in of a new door and steps on the north side of the building for taking out the ashes. That will be some concrete work for you, Bob," she smiled across to him. "The heater will keep the floor of the washroom warm in winter and prevent the pipes from freezing. We ought to take out the wood floor of the washroom and put in a concrete floor, but I think the wood floor will have to answer until we build our new house. The plumber said he could manage this by putting in a galvanized iron tray on the floor under the shower and connecting it to the waste pipes. If you are careful when you use the shower and not splash the water too much over the wood floor, I guess we can get along with this arrangement. This, however, doesn't include the cost of bringing the water down from the spring. I thought, inasmuch as our plowing and harrowing had been done so soon, you could take the time off, Joe, to dig the ditch and put in the pipe yourself. A one-inch galvanized genuine wrought-iron pipe will cost ten cents per running foot and a two-inch pipe twenty-two cents per foot."
"A one-inch pipe ought to be big enough," said Joe, "to supply all the water we want."
"Yes, perhaps it would be for the house alone," she replied, "but then there's the barn and the hen house and the new dairy house to take into account, besides a watering trough in the barnyard and water bowls in the new cow barn for each cow, and I think for all these we really ought to have at least a two-inch pipe, so that the pipe will be in for all time, and, of course, it would not pay to use steel pipe—that would rust too quickly. The hard job will be the digging of the ditch, for the pipe ought to be at least three and a half feet to four feet underground, so as to be sure it will not freeze up during the winter."
"Don't you think we ought to build new concrete walls and put a cover on the spring, Aunt Bettie?" inquired Bob, "so that nothing can get into the spring to foul the water?"
"That would be a good idea, Bob. Do you suppose you could make a rough sketch and figure out how much concrete it would take to do that?"
"Why, there's a sketch in one of the concrete bulletins that shows how that can be done," replied Bob. "I'll get the book right away," he said.
"Bring your bulletins down to the sitting room and leave them on the table, Bob," called his aunt, "that is, if you don't mind. Perhaps it would be well if they were all here so we could all see them."
"All right," said Bob.
He returned a few minutes later and after looking up the suggestion set to work, and by nine o'clock a rough sketch for enclosing the spring had been made. It would require thirteen hundred and fifty feet of two-inch pipe to bring the water to the house, which would cost $297 and the probable cost of the ditch would be $625. When the figures were all put together it was found the improvement would mean an outlay of $1172, if they paid to have the ditch dug, but, of course, they could save $625, by doing the digging themselves.
"I'd like you to have the water in the house, Bettie," said her husband, as he rose to retire, much worried at the large amount of money, "but on top of all the expenditures we have made already, I don't think it would be possible to put it in at this time."
"Well, we won't decide to-night, Joe," his wife said, smiling. "I think it is always best to think such matters over carefully before we undertake them."
All during the next day it was quite evident to Bob that his uncle was puzzled and worried. On the impulse of the moment he had been persuaded by John White, president of the First National Bank, to invest in what he considered a very much larger equipment of live stock than he would otherwise have done, and he had also allowed White to persuade him to spend $1500 for the tractor, plow, disk and harrow. The chances of making the farm earn enough to take care of the interest on his obligations at the bank and perhaps pay off something on the principal, looked all right while John White was explaining it, but now that he had had sufficient time to reflect on the matter, he felt that perhaps he had overstrained his resources in taking on this additional financial burden.
It was not the six per cent interest that worried him so much as the fact that Bettie wanted to spend almost $1200 to repair the house from which there could be no returns—the cost of which would have to be earned just the same. He was particularly silent and abrupt with Bob as they worked upon the fence rows and scolded him severely when he did not anticipate his wishes in the matter of placing the rails for the repairs of the fence. He scolded him unmercifully when, through his eagerness to please him, he happened to drop the sharp corner of a rail on his uncle's hand. It was in this state of mind that Joe Williams came in to supper that evening to greet his smiling wife.
Nothing was said during supper about putting in running water and fitting up a new bathroom, but Bob noticed the roller towel and horn comb had disappeared and that each had their own towel, brush and comb. When the supper dishes had been put away, and they had all adjourned to the sitting room, Bob's aunt opened the drawer in the sitting-room table and took out several sheets of carefully compiled figures, which she handed over to her husband.
"What's this, Bettie?" he asked, taking up the papers.
"That, Joe, is an inventory of our assets and liabilities," she answered smiling.
"Well, does it look as bad as it sounds?" laughed her husband, as he took up the statement and glanced at it hurriedly. "What's it all about, Bettie, and why have you been worrying your head with figures to-day?" he said, placing the papers on the table, without seeming to comprehend their meaning.
"I've been thinking for several days, Joe, that we should know where we stand in the matter of the cost of our farm and equipment, so that we can figure out our possible income and profit. I don't think it would be wise to go ahead and buy and sell without knowing in advance the value of everything we own; the amount of money we're obligated for in the way of loans and have estimated the probable cost of carrying on the work through harvest, and what our crops and produce ought to sell for."
ITEM INVENTORY APRIL 15,1916
Farm, 160 acres ……………………………… $6,000.00
Cows:
10 head @ $175 …………………………….. 1,750.00
8 head @ $60 ……………………………….. 480.00
Bull, 1 head @ $350 …………………………….. 350.00
Calves, 4 head @ $10 ……………………………… 40.00
Horses:
2 head @ $350 ………………………………. 700.00
2 head @ $200 ………………………………. 400.00
Hogs:
5 head @ $40 ……………………………….. 200.00
6 head @ $30 ……………………………….. 180.00
Sheep, 12 head @ $20 ……………………………. 240.00
Chickens ………………………………………… 50.00
Machinery and Tools ……………………………… 125.00
Automobile ……………………………………… 440.00
Feed and Supplies ………………………………. 300.00
Growing Crops (Labor and Seed) ……………………. 180.00
Cash ………………………………………….. 110.00
Bills Receivable ………………………………… 75.00
—————
Total Resources …………………………….. $11,620.00
Mortgage and Bills Payable ……………………… 6,000.00
—————
Net Worth……………………………………. $5,620.00
"I have started with to-day, April 1, 1916, but next year it will be better to take our inventory so that we can start on March 1st, which will be just before the spring work starts. Then we can see what our gain is for the year. We'll have to run separate accounts for all our crops and stock as well as feed and labor in order to see what the gain or loss is on any item. After we get them started, it will take only a few minutes each day to keep them up to date."
"Here, you see," she continued, as she walked around the table and sat on the arm of his chair, "I've listed the farm at its probable value— $6000."
"But you have listed it at $2000 more than I paid for it," protested her husband.
"That's because it's worth $2000 more than when you bought it," she laughed, "for with the new ditch you have added fifteen tillable acres and we still have a pond and a better driveway up to the barn. Then, of course, I've included in the improvements the running water and bathroom equipment."
"We've not decided to put that in yet," said her husband quickly, to which she made no reply.
"Then you see, I've listed our stock and equipment at $5520. These added together make our assets total $11,520. You have already obligated yourself at the First National Bank for $5400, and when we get the loan for the running water, it will make a total of about $6000."
At the mention of a further loan, Bob noticed his uncle's brow contracting in a way that did not speak well for the installation of the running water.
"But you're missing the best item of all, Joe," said his wife, "the sand pit. I was talking to Mr. White about this when I was in town yesterday, and he feels sure that by the time Mr. Brady gets all the sand he requires for the railroad work, they will be making concrete roads throughout the county and that there'll be a big demand for this pit. While I don't know exactly how big the pit is, I've estimated that it contains thirty thousand yards. If we figure this at 50 cents per yard, the price Mr. Brady is paying, it will bring us $15,000."
"But I'm afraid those are only day dreams, Bettie," laughed her husband good-naturedly; "it couldn't be possible that so much money could be gotten out of a sand pit."
"Why not?" asked his wife. "In New England there are many large supply companies who make a business of digging, washing and selling sand and gravel and carry on a very large business in this material. You have no idea what a hold concrete is getting on the country these days. It's such an excellent material in the first place, and besides it's so cheap and easily handled that any one can build all manner of structures with it. So you see, Joe," she added, smiling up at him, "if the farm doesn't pay a penny for an entire year, and we don't sell any sand besides what Mr. Brady has agreed to take after paying for the improvements that he is making, we'll still have more than enough money coming from the sand pit alone to pay the interest on all our obligations and leave us $2500 to $5000. I know we're going to have something good from the farm itself, besides. So I'm in favor of not only putting in running water in the bathroom, but building the new dairy house at the same time. The cellar under the kitchen here is a bad place to keep the milk and the work is very much increased on account of having to carry the ice down there. Besides, the floor is damp and the place has a musty odor."
"How much will a dairy house cost as you are planning to build it,
Bettie?" asked her husband, looking up hopelessly.
"I don't know exactly, Joe," she replied, glancing across the table at Bob, "but we've been looking over the bulletins and as near as we can estimate, it ought not to cost more than $500 for a dairy house alone, but when we build the new dairy house, I think we should abandon this old wooden ice house that keeps the yard all mussed up with sawdust— besides, you have to cut from thirty to fifty per cent, more ice than we really use in order to provide for the great waste in such a poorly built house. Now, if we build our ice house in connection with the dairy house, it will be better protected and the waste will be practically eliminated. Besides, we can have a refrigerator built in under the ice to keep butter, meat and poultry, which is something we don't have now, the way the ice house is built. Get the sketches, Bob, that you and I were talking over and show them to your uncle," said his aunt smiling, seeing that she had won her point. As Bob's grandmother passed through the sitting room on her way to bed that evening, she saw three heads close together bending eagerly over the sketches, while Bob and his aunt in turn explained to Joe Williams the design and advantages of a modern dairy and ice house combined.
"H'm!" she sniffed to herself. "Joe's new wife is certainly starting in early to spend his money for him. He'll find out it's easier to spend money than it is to make it, and I'll be glad when I get away from here so that they can't say I helped to put him in the poorhouse."
XI
TONY
"Good morning, son—is your uncle around?" inquired Mr. Brady, the following Monday morning as Bob was getting ready to start work digging the trench for the new water supply.
"He's in the woodshed now," replied Bob, "but he'll be out here in a few minutes."
"How do you like the ditch, son?"
"It's a fine job, Mr. Brady," replied Bob. "When are you going to put in the cement drain tile?"
"They ought to be here to-day and it won't take long to put them in, once they're here. The digging's all done already. I've a lot of men coming to-morrow, and I'll make a short job of that and the building of the dam. What I wanted to see your uncle about was, when's he going to put a man on at the gravel pit so we can start taking gravel away. We'll have to screen some sand for face work, but in most cases I expect to use the sand and gravel together, just as it comes from the pit."
"Won't you have to measure it out," asked Bob, "to get the right aggregate?"
"In most cases we would, son," answered the contractor, "but your pit is running just about right—twice as much gravel as sand, which makes a very good concrete, so as soon as we get through with the steam shovel at the dam I want to put it up in the pit and start my trucks hauling sand to the railroad bridges. The engineer tells me he'll be ready for me with his lines by the end of the week.
"Oh, good morning, Mr. Williams!" said the contractor, as Bob's uncle approached. "How about the man to take care of the tickets at the sand pit?"
"By George, I forgot all about that!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Brady. I was pretty busy last week with getting married and everything and forgot all about the man. That reminds me, John White was speaking to me about a man the other day for some light work on the farm, but if I can't locate one within, a day or two, I'll let you put one of your men on."
"All right. I want to begin taking sand away by Monday at the latest," said the contractor. "Some activities, Mr. Williams, you're having around here, what with the steam shovel working in the ditch and a tractor plow working in the fields. We've had about everybody in the county stopping here within the last week inquiring what's going on. I've had a lot of fun out of it, too," he laughed.
"How's that?" inquired Joe Williams.
"Well," said the contractor, winking at Bob, "I told everybody who asked that we were digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and do you know, some of them believed me."
"That's right," said Bob, "we are digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and what's more, Mr. Brady, we're finding it."
"I think if I were to stay around with you very long, sonny, you'd be after making me believe the moon was made of green cheese, as they say in Ireland, but with you charging me fifty cents a yard for sand, I know you're making money all right. But you're wasting your time here on the farm, me boy—it's a contractor you should be."
"I don't agree with you, Mr. Brady. I think farming is the best of all. Building is interesting, of course, but planting crops and raising cattle and seeing things grow is the most interesting thing in the world to me, and I'm going to be a farmer. I like to hear the birds sing while I'm working."
"Oh, but we've birds singing in the contracting business, too, for what's sweeter music to the ear than the puffing of a hoisting engine, or the rattling of the chains of a steam shovel? Music is music the world over—it's only a matter of education the kind we enjoy most. Now, to me, the escaping steam is the sweetest music I know, for it means dollars to me; but I must be looking after me work instead of standing here blarneying with you all the morning."
"I wish we had your men to dig our trench for the new water supply,
Brady," said Joe Williams.
"How deep do you want it?" asked the contractor.
"About four feet. I guess that's the depth you wanted to make it,
Bob?" he asked turning to his nephew.
"Yes, Uncle Joe," he replied.
"Say, Williams, you're wasting time and good muscle digging that trench. Let me dig it for you in two days."
"What—in two days!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You surely couldn't use your steam shovel for that job, it would be too big and heavy."
"I'll be using no steam shovel, Williams," said the contractor. "I'll use dynamite."
"Why, how could you do that?" asked Bob, interested at once.
"Sure, my boy, there's many easier ways than digging a trench with a pick and shovel. I have some dynamite in town now that would be just the thing to blast out your trench. Of course, it will scatter the dirt around some, for dynamite is usually used to make an open ditch rather than one that is to be re-filled, but it will be less work to gather up the dirt than to dig through the hard shale, and that reminds me," he continued, "when you come to put in your concrete fence posts, don't break your back digging holes if you strike hard shale; just put in a stick of dynamite and loosen her up—you'll find it will save you lots of backaches."
"How much would it cost, Brady?" asked Joe Williams much interested. "Let me see," said the contractor. "You, say it's about 1400 feet long and four feet deep. That will mean putting down 470 holes, three feet six inches deep, and require 360 pounds of dynamite."
He figured for a moment on a memorandum pad and added:
"I'll do the whole job for $100.00, which is about one-fourth of what it will cost you to open up the ditch, and I'll complete it in two days. You may have to level off the bottom of the trench here and there for the pipe, but at that it will be easier than digging the entire trench."
"All right, Brady," said Joe Williams; "when will you start?"
"To-morrow morning," said the contractor. "I'll get the dynamite to- day."
"But isn't dynamite dangerous, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.
"No, son, not when it's taken care of properly. You know, you don't set your kerosene oil can on a hot stove, neither do we leave dynamite around where it is likely to be put off, but it's just as safe as gunpowder, if you handle it right. You ought to have the ground in your young orchard loosened up a bit with a few sticks. You'll be surprised to know how it will improve the production of your trees."
"Does it really improve the land, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.
"Haven't you read about that, Bob? I thought you were reading everything about farming."
[Illustration with caption: DITCH DIGGING BY DYNAMITE—ONE-HALF THE
COST—ONE-TENTH THE TIME, AND NO BACKACHE]
"I've read considerable, Mr. Brady, but never anything about dynamite, but the next time I go to town I'll stop around at the First National and ask them if they have any literature on dynamite. You know they're running a 'Constructive Bank' now and distribute literature to the farmers, and I'm sure John White will have the information."
"That's right, my boy, find out all about it first, and then you'll know the reason for using it, and how to apply it. Well, I must be going. I'll take care of the job to-morrow. Good day, Mr. Williams; good-by, son," he said, as he turned and strode down the hill toward the new drive where the steam shovel was making fast inroads into the remaining bank.
"There's one thing I like about Brady, Uncle Joe," said Bob, as they watched him disappear. "He does things quickly and he does them well. Did you notice how straight and even the slope of the two sides of the ditch were made, and how he leveled off the north bank on top?"
"Well, Bob, you know I always like a straight furrow myself," replied his uncle, "and have always claimed that there isn't a man in the county can plow a straighter one."
"And there won't be a man in the county next year, Uncle Joe, who can plow a faster one than you," laughed Bob, "when you get your new tractor going."
"That certainly was a great piece of work," said his uncle, looking admiringly at the ploughed fields, "but where can we get a man to look after the sand pit, Bob? Why not let Brady put on one of his men and settle it?"
"Don't you think we ought to have a man of our own, Uncle Joe, rather than take one of his? No doubt, Brady's honest, but he's human. Suppose he'd forget once in a while to give us some tickets."
"Oh, well, we wouldn't miss a load or two of sand."
"No," said Bob, "but it might get to be a habit with him, and you know, according to Aunt Bettie's figures, the sand is going to help a lot in getting our loan paid off quickly at the bank."
"Well, the next time I go to town, I'll see who I can find," he replied.
"You know, Uncle Joe, if we had a telephone we could call up this morning and probably have a man out here by noon. Don't you think Aunt Bettie was right in wanting to have a 'phone?"
"Oh, that's been taken care of," said his uncle. "I told Bettie to go ahead and have it put in. I thought it would be nice to be able to call up our friends in town and talk to them on rainy days and Sundays when we didn't want to drive in. Besides, as you say, it will be useful at times to save trips."
They spent the morning repairing the fences, which, under their persistent work, were beginning to look like real fences again.
There was one thing about Joe Williams—whatever he did, he did thoroughly, and the undergrowth was cut from both sides, heaped into piles and burned.
"Do you know, Uncle Joe, if we had wire fences, on concrete posts, we'd never have any work like this to do each spring. The plows would keep the sides clean. Think of what it would mean, Uncle Joe, to get rid of fence rows and repairing old rail fences. Then there's the wasted land that the fence takes up; that's a dead loss."
"Yes, I can easily see that," replied his uncle. "Bettie was talking about that last night."
They had worked all morning and were on their way to the house to dinner when they saw a man coming across the fields toward them. He came from the direction of the farm above, and as he approached they saw he was a youthful foreign-looking chap—probably an Italian and not more than twenty or twenty-one years old. He carried a bundle at the end of a stout stick thrown across his shoulder, and when he had gotten within speaking distance, he called:
"Good-a morn! Do you need-a da mase or-a da carpendero to do-a da work?"
"Oh, you're one of the plumber's men?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps his aunt might have asked to have some men sent out to work on the new cellar under the washroom where the hot-water heater was to go.
"No, I no-a da plumb. I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."
"Oh, you want a job?" asked Bob, catching his meaning.
"Yes-a, da job, but no-a work-a da field. I no-a da farmer—I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."
Bob exchanged glances with his uncle, who shook his head.
"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly turning to the applicant.
"Tony."
"What do you say, Uncle Joe, if we have Tony go down to the house with us and talk the matter over with Aunt Bettie? He might be the man we could use at the sand pit. Besides," he added suddenly, "he might be the very fellow to help build the dairy house—if he understands both carpentry and mason work, he would be a big help."
"How much will you work for?" asked Joe Williams, who hesitated at paying any money in wages.
"How much-a da work to do?" asked Tony.
"Oh, we've enough for a week or a month—maybe more—that's if you can do our work."
"I understand-a da work," replied Tony, "and I like-a da live in-a da country, if you no-a make-a me sleep in-a da barn."
"Where do you come from?" asked Bob.
"From Italia. My fader, he-a da contracdisto and I learn-a da mase and-a da carpendero."
"Well, why didn't you stay in Italy?" asked Bob.
"Oh," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "there no-a da mon in-a da
Italia and too-a much da hard work."
So asking questions and listening to Tony's answers the three reached the house, where Bob quickly explained the matter to his aunt. She came out and asked Tony to stay and have dinner with them. He was given a basin and towel and after he had made his toilet his appearance was decidedly improved.
"He says he doesn't want a job," remarked Joe Williams to his wife, when they were alone after dinner, "if he has to sleep in the barn."
"Well, I don't blame him," said Bettie. "What's the matter with our south room? Your father and mother are moving to town to-morrow, and you know we won't have use for all the rooms in the house. The south room has a separate stairway leading from the small sitting room on the first floor. We could give him those rooms and make him comfortable. I rather like his appearance," she added. "Of course, Italians are foreigners and they're about as awkward in our country trying to speak our language as we would be if we were in their country trying to speak Italian. How much does he want to work for us?"
"He didn't say, but I'll ask him," and they adjourned to the porch.
"How much money would you want, Tony?" asked Joe Williams, "to work for us, say by the month?"
"Where I-a da sleep?" asked Tony quickly.
"In that room up there on the second floor, at the end of the porch."
"And where I-a da eat?" he asked again.
"Why, with us, of course," said Joe Williams.
"Then I stay-a da mont and do-a da work, and when I get-a da through, we make-a da barg. If you like-a my work and I like-a da place, then I stay, but if you no-a like me and I no-a like you, then I go."
"All right," laughed Joe Williams, "that's a bargain, Tony. Do you want to begin work right away?"
"Yes, I no like-a da loaf," said the man, shrugging his shoulders.
"All right, come around here and I'll show you what we want done," he said and took him around behind the house, showed him where to dig out and build a new entrance to the cellar under the washroom and put in a flue for the heater.
Bob was much interested in the making of the trench for the new water system, and while his uncle went to town for the pipe and some pipe tools for laying it, Bob, at Brady's direction, plowed two deep furrows, six feet apart, outlining the two edges of the trench. He plowed each furrow a foot or more deep, so as to outline the edges of the trench and keep the top as narrow as possible. The contractor's foreman and his gang quickly drove their iron bars into the earth three feet six inches deep and about three feet apart and loaded the holes as they went. When they had fifty charges in place, the foreman connected up the battery, and when the men were out of the way he raised the rack bar of the battery to its full height and shoved it down hard. Up came the earth and a neat open trench four feet deep and one hundred and fifty feet long lay open before them.
By the time his uncle had returned, over half the length of the trench had been made and was ready for the pipe.
Dynamite certainly is a quick means for doing a hard job, thought Bob, and he immediately decided to learn more about its uses.
Bob was surprised and pleased to see how quickly and easily Tony could lay out and execute a piece of work. It was no time at all until the excavation was done, the wall was cut through for a door opening and the forms made for concrete steps to lead down into the new cellar. Fortunately, they found that the foundation went down low enough to give them the five-foot head room they needed for the hot-water heater. The hardest work was to connect the flue opening to a flue in the old chimney, which they found had been built up solid with masonry. This made it necessary to take the plaster off back of the chimney and cut a groove. Either by instinct or accident, Tony located a flue, and before the end of the week they not only had the doorway and flue completed, but had laid a cement floor on the cellar as well. Tony showed Bob how to mix the concrete and put it in place so as to get a smooth surface, and explained why it was necessary, in building steps and other concrete work, that it should all be put in at one time and smoothed off as soon as it became sufficiently hard so it would not crack.
The morning after Tony's arrival, Bob's grandparents said good-by to the old homestead and were taken in the auto to town. Bob's uncle drove the car, and, as it got under way, Bob overheard his grandmother remark:
"Too many new-fangled notions, Joe. You'll surely go to the poorhouse before you're through."
"All right, mother," he laughingly replied. "If we do, we'll go on rubber tires and perhaps over concrete, and the road won't seem so rough."
Thomas Williams and his wife had spent their entire lives in the country and moving to town did not mean for them a regular town house and lot, they'd be too cramped to end their days that way. They had purchased a comfortable house, surrounded by a four-acre garden and orchard, all in good repair, and here, as compared with the farm, the work would be light indeed.
After making his parents comfortable in their new home, Joe Williams drove out to meet his new purchases, which were being delivered that day. He met the cavalcade two miles out and accompanied them home.
[Illustration: ONE-HALF THE HERD, HE WILL EARN HIS INITIAL COST IN
THREE YEARS]
"Looks like a circus parade, Aunt Bettie," declared Bob, as they stood on the hill back of the barn and saw them winding up the lane. First came the team of black Belgian mares, then the ten Holstein cows, with the bull leading his herd, then a wagon with the five Berkshire sows in a pen, on top of which were the incubator and brooder, and on top of these again the coops with the white leghorn and white rock chickens. Then came another wagon with the bee hives, and following this the small flock of Southdown sheep, looked after by a fine collie dog, and last of all came Joe Williams in his new auto, smiling like the king he felt himself to be.
It was an impressive sight to see this procession of fine-blooded stock arrive at the farm, and the eyes of both Bob and his aunt were glistening when they looked at each other as the procession came up the new road into the barnyard.
"Well, what do you think of them, Bettie?" called her husband, jumping from his auto and kissing her. "Almost like a circus procession. Hey, Bob, show them where you want your bees. Better take them right over to the orchard and set them up where you intend to keep them this summer."
"I've got a place already fixed for them," he replied. Then as Tony came near he called, "Do you understand how to talk to Italian bees, Tony?"
"Yes, I know-a da bees and-a da bees know-a me—no-a sting," said
Tony.
"All right," said Bob, "come with us," and they climbed up on the wagon and drove across the meadow to the new apiary.
They placed the hives on the cinder foundation Bob had made for them under the trees and when they were all placed they looked very attractive in their white paint.
"I'm sorry I didn't buy them myself," said the driver of the wagon, who had been a farm hand for the former owner. "They're the greatest honey-makers I ever saw. But I didn't have any place to take them, so I had to let them go. You're a lucky boy—you got them for a song, but do you know how to handle them?" he inquired. "You'll have to look out for them now very carefully, or you may lose them. The spring is the time they require watching so they don't starve."
"I've been reading up a lot about them," said Bob. "But what's in that box?" he asked, as the driver unloaded his last piece—a large box like a tool chest.
"These are your things for handling them, Bob—a smoker, a veil, some tools and a lot of extra parts and things. If you want me to, I'll come out the first nice warm day and help you look them over. I'm not afraid of them. Call up my sister on the 'phone, 770, and tell her when you want me. My name's John Adams."
"Yes, I will," said Bob, "and I'll pay you for your time, too, for while I've read some, I've had no actual experience with bees."
"Well, to-night, after sundown, take the blocks from the entrance and let them fly around in the morning. You may lose a colony or two until you learn how to handle them, but you needn't worry; they're good breeders and will soon make up for that—but be sure and keep the hives cool in hot weather, then they won't swarm so quickly."
When they got back to the house all the new cattle and other stock had been put away, and the men were ready to return home. That night before setting the new chickens at liberty, Bob caught and killed the two remaining Dunghill roosters.
It was a tired but happy family that went to bed at ten o'clock that night, instead of the regular hour of nine.
It seemed to Bob that he had just closed his eyes when bedlam broke loose. His first thought was of the new stock, then of the dynamite, but as he sat up in bed he realized it could not be either of them— so, throwing up his window, he looked out.
In the moonlight he could distinguish many of their neighbors, who were armed with everything from sleigh bells to horse fiddles, and the racket they made in the stillness of the night seemed greater than any noise he had ever heard. As he raised his window, a shout went up, the neighbors thinking it was Bob's uncle, but seeing their mistake they redoubled their efforts and kept the racket going for a half hour or more. Then his aunt and uncle appeared, and invited the party into the house, where the lamps were already lighted.
Congratulations were extended, a hasty lunch was set out, the cider barrel tapped and a general good time enjoyed for an hour or more.
Many of the boys had been former pupils of the bride and they were happy that she had chosen to come and live among them.
Joe Williams disappeared for a moment and when he returned he carried a large bottle of wine with a long blue ribbon tied to it.
"Boys," he said, when the cheering had stopped, "you all know that with the exception of cider, I never drink anything."
"Oh, don't let that worry you, Joe, we're not so modest," they shouted, but he only held up his hand for silence.
"This bottle of wine was given to us by a very good friend for a certain purpose. We had intended to wait until later to use it, but I don't know any better time than just now, when our friends are all here to carry out our plans, so come out into the yard a moment," and they all adjourned to the front yard.
Here Joe Williams and his bride stepped over to a young apple tree and handing her the bottle, he tied the ribbon to a limb.
"Now, boys, Bettie and I've decided to give our farm a name and sell our produce under that name—a sort of a trade-mark or standard of merit, so now while you're all here, we'll perform the ceremony."
Taking the bottle firmly in both hands, the bride stepped back, stretching the ribbon tight, then with a light shining in her eyes that was not a reflection of the moon, she called in a clear voice, "I christen you 'Brookside Farm,'" and sent the bottle crashing against the tree amid the cheers of the crowd.
When silence had been partly restored, a man was seen mounting the steps of the porch, and holding a stout stick in his hand, he placed one end of the stick against his lips and there floated out upon the stillness of the night the old familiar air, "Home, Sweet Home." When he had finished there were many shining eyes in the crowd, but only Bob recognized in the disappearing figure his new friend Tony, whose natural artistic nature had been responsible for such a fitting tribute.
When the boys had all gone home, Bob's aunt called him to the kitchen.
"Take this up to Tony and thank him for me for the very fine touch he added to our ceremony," and she handed him a plate heaped high with cake, alongside of which his uncle set a large goblet of their rare old elder-berry wine—a mark of distinction conferred by his uncle only upon honored guests.