There were exceptions, however. A doctor who had for many years enjoyed a fairly lucrative practice and who had shown unusual efficiency in holding his expenses at a low figure, gradually found himself handicapped by the infirmities of age with a naturally diminishing professional income.
Although the old doctor was in affluent circumstances for that period, it was very depressing to him not to be able to lay aside the usual amount each year. He accordingly resorted to the extremes of economy. The doctor lived alone except for a housekeeper, and having had a misunderstanding with her, found himself left entirely to his own devices. He accordingly engaged a half-grown boy to come and stay with him and “do chores for his board.”
The boy did not find the environment especially exhilarating. The old man was very irascible and hard to please. Furthermore his menu was rather too simple to meet the requirements of a growing boy.
One evening returning from school, the young man hustled to do his outdoor tasks in order to prepare for an early supper. He had even more than his normally excellent appetite. In fact he was practically famished. He hoped therefore that the old doctor would give instructions for a tolerably elaborate meal.
But he was greatly disappointed. Seating himself near the kitchen range, the old doctor who commonly held his cane in his hand, even when sitting in his easy chair, testily gave instructions to the boy to make a hasty pudding, prepared of course by sifting fine cornmeal into a kettle of boiling hot water until the right admixture is made, and then allowing it to cook for a short time.
According to the instructions, the youngster soon had the kettle boiling and brought forward an ample supply of the cornmeal, the old man watching every movement. Taking spoonfuls of the meal in one hand, he stirred vigorously with the other, meantime sifting in the meal. In his eagerness to prepare a sufficient quantity of the food to satisfy his youthful craving, the boy had put an unusual amount of water in the kettle. But when he had sifted in about half enough meal to produce the requisite combination with the water, he was abruptly brought to a halt by the old doctor.
“Hold on there, boy!” said he. “You have enough meal in there. Stew ’er down.”
The old man’s word was law and there was nothing for the youngster to do but to speed up the fire and stir the contents of the kettle until the evaporation of the superfluous water had brought the food mixture to the right consistency.
The boy decided that in the interest of self-preservation he had better hunt for a new job.
Probably no more elaborate form of thrift has ever been carried out than that of the old-time widow of small fortune and the determination to live on her income. One of this type of widows succeeded in making herself a social leader among a considerable circle of women who were in much more comfortable circumstances financially. The airs and graces of this old lady were not looked upon with special admiration by the men of the community, but when an exceedingly amiable married woman of the neighborhood was invited with her husband to have supper with the widow, she prevailed upon her reluctant husband to go with her.
They were received cordially by the hostess who gave most gracious attention to the husband. He was not especially responsive and his wife looked on with considerable anxiety lest he should somehow allow his disapproval of the widow to show out in the conversation.
Everything went smoothly, however, and the amiable wife began to feel quite at ease. Called to the dining room, the table was found to be set out in very attractive style and lavishly supplied with everything except things to eat. The food exhibit was exceedingly meager.
They took their seats and the old gentleman gruffly replied to the prattle of the widow and seemed to be making a pretense of enjoying his meal.
Finally, however, that occurred which the wife had feared, and she felt disgraced for life.
As the final artistic touch of the meal, the widow turned to the pie which was apparently destined for dessert, cut it with great precision exactly through the center, next dividing one of the halves into three exactly equal parts. She then passed the pie to the amiable wife aforesaid, who removed one of the geometrical portions with the grace and ease customary on such occasions. The widow then passed the pie to the husband.
Perhaps the old man was actually in that state of undernourishment which produces such dissatisfaction in the masculine mind; perhaps he was inspired by a sardonic sense of humor. What he did was to reach out and take the half pie yet uncut and remove it to his plate. His wife looked on with horror.
“Why, papa,” said she, “that part of the pie is not cut.”
The old man smiled at her grimly.
“Never mind,” said he. “I can cut it.”
The impression should not be acquired that New England thrift and stinginess are synonymous. A person can be very economical and still be generous and considerate.
A young married woman, whose husband was not regarded as a very good “provider” and who had been housekeeping a year or two, was quite flattered one afternoon at receiving calls by two estimable old ladies of the neighborhood. It may be taken for granted that they knew pretty nearly all the facts regarding the young couple in question. And their disapproval of the husband was about equally balanced by their sympathy for the wife.
After devoting an hour or two to conversation with her guests, the young housekeeper excused herself in order that she might prepare the five o’clock supper. Styles of entertainment naturally change according to the times, but at that period no farm supper table with guests present would be considered as properly spread without an abundant supply of hot soda biscuits which would be made more palatable by serving some kind of fruit sauce.
Shortly after the young hostess had set about her task of preparing supper, a pounding was heard in the kitchen. The two old ladies looked at each other significantly. The pounding continued. The hollow sound could suggest but one thing. The housewife was making a desperate effort to gather up enough flour from a nearly empty barrel to make the biscuits de rigeur for supper.
The old ladies became more and more uneasy and the conversation died away. Finally one of them arose.
“Do you know, I’m going home! It doesn’t seem to me as though I could swallow a mouthful of one of those biscuits. That poor thing doesn’t have half enough to eat!”
While the other lady was hesitating, the hostess re-entered the room. She of the uneasy conscience had already put on her wrap. The hostess protested but with no results. Her decision being unalterable, the other guest decided that it would be more diplomatic for her to make an excuse also. And the ladies departed to their homes, each of them more disgusted with Jake’s improvidence than before they had apparently encountered the direct evidence that his poor wife must be going hungry.
This was many years ago and probably not even millionaires now buy their flour in barrels. But just because poor “Jake” had been a little slow about finding the wherewithal to lay in perhaps a year’s stock of flour for himself and wife, in one package, his wife’s social status received a serious jolt.
Under the strictly home rule township system of the New England states, only the large towns have their own resorts for the “down-and-outs” known as “poor farms.”
The small towns have from the most remote days generally arranged to have the chronic town pauper boarded out in some family. Naturally people in comfortable circumstances are not likely to furnish entertainment for these unfortunates, who are generally farmed out by the year in homes where the very moderate compensation for board would be of financial assistance in meeting the year’s expenses.
“Uncle Hiram” had recently been transferred to the care of a family which was not noted as given to a luxurious menu. There was no doubt sufficient food, but it was very plain and “Uncle Hiram” was naturally somewhat of an epicure.
One day he appeared at the residence of the poor master and seemed to be more dejected than usual. Suspecting that something was wrong, the official began to ask questions.
“Well, Uncle Hiram, how are you getting along at your new home?”
Uncle Hiram was rather non-committal in his reply, seemingly reluctant to make complaints, but after some urging he proceeded to make his ideas clear in the following long remembered statement.
“Mr. Thomas’s folks are very good folks; but they have everything ter buyee; and nothin’ ter buy it with.”
As there was no evidence that Uncle Hiram did not fare as well in the menu as the rest of the family, it was not considered necessary to try and hunt him up a new boarding place.
It is a common belief that excessive thrift is a continual temptation to dishonesty, but such is not necessarily the case. Perhaps there is no more marked example of that exactitude in business transactions which so frequently leads to the charge of stinginess than the instance recorded of the obliging man who was asked by his neighbor to kindly extend a little helpful supervision over the efforts of his young boys to carry on the farm during his own necessary absence for a few weeks. He offered to pay liberally for all the time required in carrying out this plan.
The man cheerfully consented to do all he could for the youngsters while their father was away.
The boys being carefully instructed as to their duties in his absence, the father started on his journey well content that everything would be all right. On his return he found that all had worked out as he had expected.
The farm business had gone smoothly and when the obliging neighbor presented his bill, carefully itemized, it was promptly paid and with much pleasure.
The bill was carefully preserved as a souvenir for many years. It comprised a considerable number of items, each representing some small service for which the charge was accordingly trivial. Of course it is impossible, and neither is it desirable, to go into details regarding this bill, but one item may give a clue as to the conscientious, methodical and business-like habits of the man who presented it.
October 21st:—To helping roll log over ... 1c.
That which has appeared heretofore in this chapter illustrates the various phases of the habitual economy which has made the Scotch, the New Englanders and other nationalities take so leading a place in modern civilization. But there is another instance of the economical instinct which stands out in very unpleasant contrast with the foregoing.
A well-to-do farmer had reached quite an advanced age and had been recently left alone by the death of his wife. He had no children and no obvious reason for denying himself anything within reason that would help to allay his natural loneliness. But such a hold had frugal habits taken upon him that one December he resolved that on January first he would discontinue for all time his one indulgence, viz., “fine cut” tobacco, utilized in the manner made famous and conspicuous by many eminent Americans during the preceding century.
Accordingly, having reached this decision, this model citizen began to plan ahead. He found that his supply of “fine cut” was in considerable excess of his normal requirements. He therefore speeded up the matter somewhat by increasing his daily allowance. But when the thirty-first day of December arrived, he found himself with several days’ supply on hand.
There were acquaintances who would on request have cheerfully obliged him by taking over his reserve stock. But this plan made no appeal. He resolved to sit up until midnight, if necessary, and consume the last of that “fine cut” himself.
He carried out his plans according to program. But even his thoroughly seasoned physique rebelled. The next day he was seriously ill. And his funeral took place a week or two later.
The impression may be easily acquired by the reader that the collector of these authentic reminiscences is inclined to look with favor upon those whose personalities are exhibited in these pages. Such an impression is probably correct as it is not human nature to comment too sarcastically upon that which adds to the joy of life.
In the average conservative rural neighborhood of New England, it is regarded as excellent policy to cultivate the semblance of cordiality in neighborly associations with special regard for humorous intercourse whenever possible because people of even more than average human frailty may have occasion to do kindly acts. Therefore, it is seldom that neighborhood friction becomes openly demonstrative.
The boy or girl who has been raised in an atmosphere of forbearance and who has been taught to avoid any outward display of personal dislike, has acquired a very useful lesson. This may explain to a certain extent the ability of the transplanted Yankee to avoid antagonisms in neighborhoods in which there may be, generally speaking, less personal restraint.
It would have been perhaps natural for a certain Ben Jackson to have resented what happened to him one sultry afternoon, but so far as the record shows, if he had any such feeling he kept it carefully to himself.
Ben Jackson had been to town a few miles away with a load which he delivered with a yoke of oxen attached to a primitive cart of earlier days. At that time it was but the most natural thing in the world that there should have been included in Ben’s purchases at the country store, a bottle of rum. It must not be understood by this that Ben was an intemperate man, for such was not the case. Like nearly everybody else of that era, including deacons, clergymen, as well as Indians, he considered that his health and that of his family required that they have “something in the house” at all times.
On his way home with an empty cart and a docile pair of oxen, progress was necessarily slow. A man who rises at three or four o’clock in the morning in order to put in a fair day’s work before nine o’clock in the evening, has an excuse for becoming drowsy at times of inaction. Ben had sampled the rum, found it good and tried it again, after which, knowing that his oxen would probably find their way through the coming strip of woodland without any guidance from himself, he stretched out upon the cart and was soon fast asleep.
In the meantime the oxen had leisurely picked their way through the woods until they came to a little opening at one side of the road where there was some green grass. Having no one to restrain their movements, they turned away from the road and began to refresh themselves. Just about that time two young men came along who knew Ben very well and who promptly grasped the situation. The little opening at the roadside was rather rough ground and they could easily picture the oxen tipping the cart to such an angle that Ben would roll off and possibly be injured. It was therefore but a naturally kind act for them to guide the oxen safely into a little arbor, release them from the cart and leave their friend to enjoy his nap in safety. Incidentally they decided to sit down in nearby obscurity and watch developments.
Ben’s nap lasted for considerable time. But finally a swarm of mosquitoes aroused him to semi-consciousness. He was surrounded by trees and the entire scene was vague and unfamiliar. It seemed to him that it must all be a dream. He began to talk and his kind friends, before mentioned, listened eagerly.
“Am I Ben Jackson, or am I not? If I am Ben Jackson, I have lost a yoke of oxen. If I am not Ben Jackson, I have found a cart.”
It can be easily understood that the friends in ambush soon reassured Ben as to his identity. Just how much of the rum was left when he finally arrived home does not appear in the record.
WHITE BIRCHES OF NEW ENGLAND
It will be noted that in this instance a practical joke was played upon an unsuspecting citizen which placed him in a ridiculous light. However, if the same practical joke had resulted in anything like personal injury or damage to property, it would have been met with local disgust or indignation, all of which indicates merely inherent common sense.
In the more leisurely days it was the custom that friends or neighbors meeting while driving on the highway, would stop their teams and have a little chat in the roadway. An exchange of jovial banter under such conditions was not only frequent but expected. As an example there was the chance meeting between Mr. Peck and Mr. Wells.
Mr. Peck, who had recently removed from his native town some dozen miles away, was returning to his new home from a brief visit to his former town and met Mr. Wells, an old neighbor, in the highway. Being congenial acquaintances, there naturally followed a general conversation in which Mr. Peck inquired as to the well-being of various mutual friends. There was much for Mr. Wells to tell, and Mr. Peck enjoyed getting all the news from his old neighborhood. It required several minutes for Mr. Wells to lay before Mr. Peck these numerous details. Just about this time a heavy team approached nearer and nearer and it was necessary, in view of the narrowness of the road, for these old friends to separate. As Mr. Wells started up his horse to move along, he remarked:
“There are some mighty fine people in our old town.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Peck, “and the farther you go the better they are.”
The personal application of Mr. Peck’s remark will be appreciated when it is explained that Mr. Wells lived on the very first farm across the boundary line in the town under discussion.
In these degenerate gasoline days, there is less opportunity for such friendly exchanges of left-handed compliments. When the horse was the chief mode of conveyance, the frequent watering trough afforded occasional chances for the circulation of the perennial Yankee jokes.
A man returning to his farm from a visit to the grocery store, in waiting to give his horse a drink, fell in behind an unusual collection of vehicles. At the head of the line with his horse’s nose in the trough, was a well-known undertaker. Directly behind, waiting for his turn was a veteran dealer in tomb-stones. And next in line was the village doctor. The man in the rear, who knew all the parties concerned, could not resist the opportunity to make a suggestion.
“Say,” he called in loud tones to those in front. “You’ve got this procession dead wrong; you ought to put the doctor ahead!”
All this is but a part of the record of the past. The actors have all passed on, but there are many more recent echoes of amusing happenings along the country roads.
At the foot of a long hill, near the outskirts of a certain busy town, the middle of the snowy road for a protracted period of winter cold, presented the appearance of well scrambled eggs. In reality it was not exactly an optical delusion either. A well-known farmer, who lived considerably back in the hill country, started out one ‘day in his old-fashioned “pung” sleigh to deliver to a local grocery store two or three weeks’ accumulation of fresh laid eggs. These were carefully packed in a receptacle with a loose cover. Just as he was reaching the foot of the hill near the railroad, a train suddenly darted into view and while his horse was old enough to have become steady, he had never become reconciled to the arrogant actions of a locomotive. He gave a quick leap and in spite of the best efforts of his driver, succeeded in dumping the contents of the sleigh into the middle of the road. The slaughter of eggs was practically complete.
The conventional thing to say would be that the driver, who soon controlled his horse, returned to his home a sadly disappointed man. But this would in reality be a misstatement. The spectacle of thirteen dozen eggs totally wrecked in the middle of the highway and the prospective wonderment of passersby so stimulated the farmer’s Irish sense of humor, that he told the story with great delight to everyone whom he could induce to listen to him. Naturally his attitude regarding this untoward event might have been somewhat different had he been in circumstances which made the loss of the eggs a matter of any real importance.
The occasional wrecked vehicle which may be seen by the roadside in country districts is more likely in these days to be a gasoline buggy than one drawn by horses. But one midsummer day not long ago, travelers along a back country road observed with much curiosity what remained of an old time buggy which indicated a bad case of misunderstanding between some horse and its driver. Those who found out the facts were considerably amused.
A prominent farmer in the neighborhood had somewhere acquired a horse whose disposition had become permanently sour. This horse was not satisfied to work eight hours a day, or six hours, or in fact to do any work at all. She was on a permanent strike and inclined to sabotage. Her owner therefore decided that there was no use in bothering any longer and announced his intention of having the horse killed.
About a half mile away there was a young man who believed that he possessed certain hypnotic powers, at least in the matter of horses. He told the owner of the striker aforesaid that it was a shame to close out as good a horse as that, whereupon the owner promptly made him a present of the animal. The young man led the horse home and made elaborate plans for a process of education and benevolent philanthropy which would cause the rebellious equine to see things in an entirely different light.
As the eccentric horse had a record of becoming too handy with her heels, it was desirable to proceed with caution.
The early results of the ensuing course of treatment were encouraging. The horse seemed to respond to the humane methods of the experimenter. Every evening the horse received a lesson and finally was harnessed and driven short distances on the highway. His new owner, however, seemed to prefer seclusion for his experiments. At last he began to be convinced that the horse’s nature was entirely changed. He was elated with the success of his efforts.
Finally he decided that the time was near when he could exhibit his new possession by daylight. He looked forward with much anticipation to the admiration with which his efforts would be regarded by all the young men of his acquaintance.
Before making this public show of his horse, he concluded to give it one more tryout. He had always driven with a stiff check rein which held the horse’s head very high. When a horse’s heels go up, its head goes down. After making a little detour on a comparatively level road, he turned on to a stretch of road which led up a hill. When he had nearly reached the top it occurred to him that it was a little hard on the now reformed horse to make her climb where it was so steep with the head held up so high. He stopped the animal, got out of the buggy and unhooked the check rein. He resumed his seat in the buggy, gathered up the reins and started the horse again. Holding the reins very firmly he was, for a minute or two, able to keep the animal’s head in nearly the desired position. Then followed a struggle between the horse and the driver which resulted finally in the horse depressing its head to the right angle, after which there was a most remarkable bombardment of rapidly moving heels which, according to the driver’s subsequent report, established a new record over anything he had ever yet heard of. The horse trainer fortunately succeeded in escaping uninjured from the vehicle, got the horse by the head, unfastened the straps, and ran what was left of the wagon up on to the bank at the roadside, from which point he led his horse home, thankful that the shades of evening were such as to make his movements obscure. The horse regeneration experiment was a failure.
While the more remote highways of New England are anything but a joy during certain months, they become more attractive as the fields and woodlands assume their summer hues.
One of the first signs of well developed spring in the farming sections is the appearance of the traveling junk man.
The conventional outfit required for this branch of commerce is a substantial wagon of medium size and a horse of sufficient age and discretion to stand patiently by the roadside while the driver dickers for old metals, wornout rubber footgear and the surplus burlap grain bags which are apt to accumulate on the average dairy farm. It is probable that the real, conscientious traveling tourist of this variety does not allow himself to profiteer to a greater extent than say 4000 per cent. As might be expected, these travelers are not regarded with much enthusiasm, although they are allowed to carry away that which otherwise would be a total waste.
One of these aggressively industrious people was making his rounds one day and left his team in front of a farmhouse While he interviewed the proprietor. Just at this point some men were repairing the road. Although his negotiations occupied several minutes, he returned empty handed, climbed into his wagon and moved along. Shortly afterward he turned off the main thoroughfare on to a side road which soon became quite steep. His faithful horse had never failed him so he was surprised to have him falter. Finally, in spite of the driver’s agitated words of encouragement, the wagon began to back down hill, landing in a ditch.
No damage was done, but it was all very mysterious to the junk man. He could not understand what had happened to the horse. The animal did not seem to be sick and had never been inclined to be balky. At last he concluded to take an inventory of the load. Lifting a pile of ancient burlap bags in the rear of the wagon, he discovered eight or ten large boulders, each being about as large as two men could lift. It seemed very amusing to the men working on the highway a short distance away when the junk man by herculean efforts succeeded in dumping the rocks out of the end of the wagon.
On another occasion a young scion of a prosperous junk dealer started out with a high powered automobile to make a quick collection of burlap grain sacks which at that time were in demand at very high prices. Naturally he did not care to pay much for these bags and he was not taken very seriously by the up-to-date farmers whom he visited. Passing into an unfamiliar section he asked the manager of a large farm whom he had been annoying by his persistent methods, as to how he could reach a certain neighborhood not far away where there were a group of large dairy farms. He received directions and shortly after appeared at one of these farms complaining bitterly of the state of the highway. The man who listened to his complaint could not understand why he had found such bad roads. A little questioning demonstrated the fact that in his disgust at the unwillingness of the opulent junk man to take “no” for an answer, the manager of the farm before mentioned had directed him to take a crossroad which was considered locally as practically impassable, even for a farm wagon. The commercial tourist succeeded in making his perilous way across to a place of safety but he narrowly escaped heart failure.
To those of rural districts who seldom travel far from the home fireside, there are suggestions of possible interest and entertainment in conversing with strange frequenters of the highway. This was especially true of earlier days when, because of frugal habits and rather unsatisfactory public roads, unfamiliar faces in the highways were few indeed.
It is not surprising therefore that when a real old gentleman who had served his community and even his state acceptably in his more active days, observed an absolute stranger walking rapidly up the road, he should have meandered out to the front gate for a little closer inspection.
The traveler was evidently in haste, but was brought up to a short turn with an interrogation from the old gentleman that it would have been very impolite to have ignored. Then followed a conversation which is yet occasionally referred to after more than half a century.
“You seem to be in a hurry today.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Where did you come from?”
“I came from Monkton.”
“When did you leave there?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“Where did you stay last night?”
“I stayed in Goshen.”
“Where are you going today?”
“I am going to Jericho.”
“What are you going to Jericho for?”
“I am going to school.”
“A man as old as you going to school! What are you going to school for?”
“I am going to school to see if I can’t learn how to mind my own business.”
The stranger passed on and left the old man thinking it over. The more he thought it over the more he was sure it was a good joke on himself, and being a genuine Yankee, he enjoyed the joke just as well as though it had been on someone else and it soon became well known to his acquaintances.
But while the interchange of civilities among near or more or less remote neighbors who chance to meet in the highway, is quite prone to touch upon the humorous episodes which are constantly happening to normal human beings, there is occasionally a glimpse of the pathetic.
A man who had quite an extensive acquaintance in a certain section was driving to town one day and at a turn of the road met a genial old Irishman who was jogging his fat and sleepy old horse along toward home. The two had not met for quite a while and the conversation was much prolonged. After inquiring as to Uncle Jimmie’s health and that of his family, and the outlook for the hay crop and various other subjects of mutual interest, inquiry was made as to some of Uncle Jimmie’s Irish friends. Finally Mr. Foley’s name was mentioned. A shadow came over Uncle Jimmie’s face.
“Ah! it is indeed sorry I am for poor Mr. Foley. First he lost the foal of his mare; then he lost a sow and litter of pigs; and now, poor mon, he’s lost his wife.”
It would seem to be eminently fitting to group the events chronicled below in the Thirteenth Chapter of this History.
In the light of present day happenings and with the echoes of rage, despair and lamentation filling our ears, it would be hard to imagine the incredulity with which many worthy, and otherwise, patriots of a former generation would have regarded the possibilities of the present prohibition era. Indeed, there are many who now, looking back to earlier days, can with relief affectionately recall various old-timers who have passed on to another existence, and thus been mercifully spared the desolate days which now follow each other in hopeless succession.
However, there is such a thing as carrying pathos too far. So we will let the scenes shift to a famous day in the history of Hank Towner.
No one in his native town had ever suspected Hank Towner of being a hero. The ordinary pursuits of peace held little attraction for Hank, at least that portion which involved real actual labor. To be sure, there was plenty of reason why Hank should work every day, but there were other reasons why he did not work except occasionally, and the chief of these reasons was John Barleycorn.
However, this is a world of unsuspected opportunity, as Hank found out for himself. This was many, many years ago, but as Hank persisted long years after the supposed scriptural limit of seventy years, his history remains vivid.
War was declared with Mexico, and about the very first to respond to the call for volunteers was Hank. Military life appealed to him, and he became a model soldier. This fact, however, made little impression upon his fellow citizens who had known him so long under different circumstances. His company marched away and the war went on and although Hank was reported to be a good soldier, it seemed to his former associates that there must be some exaggeration about it.
One day the town woke up. There had been a great battle, at least great for those times, and wonder of wonders, one of their own boys had distinguished himself and become a national hero. The newspaper reports were read eagerly and in all details. Hank who was assigned to a battery company, had remained at his post when his comrades had fled and had single-handed held the enemy back with volleys of grape-shot.
The town was even more impressed when it was learned that Congress had passed a vote of thanks to the distinguished soldier whose heroism and unfailing nerve had saved the day.
Every citizen of this patriotic little town thrilled at this report. To think that they had had a national hero grow up in their midst and had never recognized the fact! They really felt ashamed to look each other in the face. But they resolved if Hank ever got back to his home town he would get an ovation such as had never been known in that valley before.
The war came to an end. The troops were ordered home. It was time to show their appreciation.
A meeting was therefore held and the leading citizens constituting the Reception Committee were authorized to equip themselves with badges, engage a band and declare a public holiday for the town, in order that the distinguished son who had cast such glory upon even the most conspicuous of the town’s people should receive suitable testimonial of the esteem in which he was held. This of course is but a meager abstract of the gracious phrases of those who elaborated the reception plan.
No railroad reached the town at that time and Boston passengers came by stagecoach. Definite arrangements were however made by which it could be known just what day Hank would arrive.
The auspicious day dawned bright and fair and business was practically suspended. Long before the stage was due to arrive early in the afternoon, the streets were thronged. The Reception Committee had repaired to the principal hotel, at which point the stage was to deliver the distinguished passenger.
Stagecoaches were run on an excellent schedule in those days. And at about the time prepared for in the program, small boys who had climbed the tall trees on the hotel lawn, announced in shrill tones that the stage was coming. A thrill passed through the crowd. This was a day to remember. And indeed it was. The driver of the six Morgan horses attached to the stage with the long reins wound around his hands, brought his equipage skillfully down the long hill and through the covered bridge, from which point he passed down the street and around the corner. The road was now straight to the hotel and the spirited horses came down the street with a rush, drawing up before the hotel portico with a grace which none but Morgan horses could ever equal.
The Reception Committee of distinguished citizens, wearing their high hats and badges, now came impressively down the steps of the hotel and formed in a semi-circle at the side of the coach. Some unfamiliar passengers climbed down from the top and two or three women looking exceedingly disgusted, got out of the interior of the coach. There was an awkward pause. Then someone asked the driver,
“Where’s Hank?”
The driver pointed significantly toward the interior of the coach. The spokesman of the Reception Committee stepped forward and looked.
Hank had arrived! He was lying in a stupor on the floor of the coach, while the strong alcoholic odor which floated out upon the atmosphere made all further questions unnecessary.
It is often hard to decide whether the man who performs a kind deed for his neighbor or the neighbor himself is the most benefited by the friendly act. In the following instance it is evident that the chief benefit derived was to the party of the first part.
Antoine was a natural born hustler. No one knew better how to get a bumper crop from his farm or how to drive a harder bargain in a livestock transaction. His naturally rapid accumulation of assets, however, was being constantly depleted by the apparent necessity on his part of taking a few days off every now and then, in order that he might sample various brands of wet goods. As there was not only a considerable expenditure of cash, but a loss of time involved in these holidays, they were expensive, even if we leave out the consideration of fines imposed when Antoine’s powers of locomotion had become totally suspended.
It was therefore an unpleasant sight to a certain prosperous young business man of the vicinity, when one afternoon, at the intersection of two busy streets he beheld Antoine whom he had known a long time, ambling along very plainly under the “influence.” To the young business man it seemed a shame that so naturally industrious and worthy a citizen should be allowed to perambulate directly into the arms of a cop, which seemed likely to happen in the very near future, and thus very likely find it necessary to pay a fine before he could get back to his farm.
These reflections were followed by a noble and generous impulse. Calling to Antoine, he told him he was going in the direction of the latter’s farm and would be glad to take him home in his car.
Antoine promptly accepted the invitation, climbed into the car and in a short time was unloaded, safe and sound, in his own door yard. He expressed loquacious thanks for the favor which had been done and the young business man went on to look after some incidental matters in the vicinity, feeling greatly pleased with himself.
Antoine’s farm was not far distant from the trolley system which took him into the town from which he had just recently been delivered. When the motorist had made his rounds and returned to the starting point, and had run his car up to the curb, he looked up the street and rubbed his eyes. Had the last two hours been a dream, or had he actually performed a noble act? A look at his speedometer convinced him that he had actually made the trip, however.
What he saw that was so confusing was Antoine just getting off the trolley car. There had been just about time enough since he had been taken home for him to meander down the road and catch the car for the original starting point.
Antoine had come back to town to finish the job.
To certain citizens there would seem to be something radically wrong with society when prohibition officers will deliberately receive and sometimes actually destroy “good liquor.”
It was a shock to Harry W— years ago when he heard that there had been a prohibition raid on a certain bottler of soda water and various other colored fluids, during which several five-gallon “kags” of whiskey, gin and brandy had been dumped unceremoniously into the river.
It seemed as though something ought to be done about such a reckless act and after some reflection Harry decided there could be. Hastening down the street to the outskirts of the town, he entered a fringe of bushes by the river bank and waited. Sure enough, shortly afterwards down came two kegs, the bungs of which had been knocked out before their emersion and which were wabbling along in the current.
Wading out into the stream, Harry succeeded in towing these two kegs to the shore, and pulling them into the bushes he anxiously sampled the contents. In one of the receptacles, river water had very sadly marred the flavor of the original contents, but in the other, by great good luck, there was very little adulteration. Harry smacked his lips and, carefully hiding the keg in the brush, hastily withdrew. Late in the evening he secured his prize and succeeded in taking it unobserved to the home of his father, with whom he lived, hiding it in the cellar.
When Harry told his father what he had done, the latter was greatly pleased, but cautioned him that he must not let a certain younger brother know anything about it, as he might indulge too freely.
From that time on, day after day, the father and son, coming in from their tasks, would adroitly make their way to the carefully concealed prize in the cellar, from which they would emerge with that deep satisfaction associated with luxuries which can be enjoyed at someone’s else expense.
However, the younger brother became interested. It seemed to him that there was “something doing” in the house. So, one morning he decided that he was not able to work and left to himself he made a careful search of the cellar. Just what he did afterwards may be inferred from the sequel.
When the father and son sat down to supper, there was a vacant place. Hugh was absent. Just what he was doing was uncertain, but the mystery was soon solved. A kindly neighbor came in to say that a cop had found Hugh parading the streets in such an extremely hilarious condition that he had found it necessary to place him in seclusion to sober up.
The next morning Harry and his father went to court, paid the fine and Hugh was allowed to go home. Just what became of the keg and its contents does not appear in the history, but it is not likely that it was taken back to the river.
While the anguish produced by prohibition is of recent date in most states, in one or two New England states it befell to an earlier generation to endure this form of privation a good many years ago.
In this region prohibition made its entrance about the time that whale oil was in its last stages of usefulness for illuminating purposes.
It had been a long established custom to include among other necessities at the grocery store, the refilling of the family jug with Medford rum. And when, owing to meddlesome tactics of certain teetotalers, storekeepers became somewhat shy about replenishing these jugs, there was much dismay.
However, there were exceptional dealers who not only had a stock of old Medford on hand, but felt a deep sympathy for old reliable customers who were thus subjected to such inconvenience, and who would “find a way.” One of these ways was to have the customer call for oil and at the same time give a certain signal. When this plan was working well, the customer would find the contents of the jug to be entirely satisfactory.
One Saturday afternoon, two worthy citizens who lived on adjacent farms back on the hills, started to go to the country store to do a little “trading” for their wives. Incidentally one of them took along the faithful old jug which had been refilled several times in a very satisfactory way since the prohibition edict was supposed to be in full working order.
Entering the store, the man with the jug approached the counter and gave his order for a few small articles needed by the housekeeper at home. As there were people standing about and the clerk was a new recruit, the customer asked that the clerk fill the jug with “oil,” at the same time giving him the usual signal, a broad wink. After a brief chat with acquaintances regarding crops, the weather, etc., the customer gathered up his parcels and his jug and accompanied by his neighbor, who had also made some moderate purchases, went outside, placed the parcels in the buggy and started for home.
It is quite likely that they would not have started for home nearly so soon but for anticipations associated with the jug. A half mile or so out of the village there was a bend in the road, an old-time covered bridge being the only building in sight. The team was brought to a halt and while the horse started to browse by the roadside, the jug was brought out by the owner, uncorked and passed over to his friend, who, relieving himself of a “chew,” lifted the jug to his lips and took a large mouthful of the contents. Controlling himself by violent effort, he passed the jug back to the owner who was waiting with as much patience as he could muster, leaned over the side of the buggy and succeeded in relieving his mouth of its unwelcome contents. The owner of the jug, however, was not so fortunate, as in his eagerness he swallowed a good-sized mouthful of the whale oil before he discovered his horrible mistake.
Tradition has it that these two worthies were never quite so friendly after that unfortunate incident. What happened to the store clerk is unknown.
Kerosene oil would doubtless prove to be a very enticing beverage compared with whale oil, perhaps as nauseous as any oleaginous substance yet discovered.
When in prohibition times some pleading citizen who has been the recipient of illegitimate favors becomes too much elated and “discloses” on his benefactor (?), he is regarded by the faithful as having reached the subterranean depths of infamy.
Such was the opinion at least of a certain robust woman who kept a hotel and who was widely known as Marm Hooker. Yielding to the persuasions and implorings of a certain ne’er-do-well, she supplied him with a flask of stimulant which he needed for his “run down system.” The result was that the object of her benevolence became hilarious and later on, under the severe cross-examination of the prohibition officer, “disclosed” on his benefactress. In her opinion, human depravity could reach no lower depths.
Besides providing accommodations for man and beast in the function of tavern keeper, Marm Hooker would arrange once a month or so during the winter for a public dance in the old-fashioned hall at her hotel. Patrons who attended these dances were not exclusive in their social ideas.
In a remote corner of the second floor of the tavern, there was a small room and when the dance was well under way, Marm Hooker would withdraw to this little sanctum of hers, while those whom she regarded as trustworthy would one by one secure admission for two or three minutes.
One night who should appear at this dance, which was public, but the ignominious person who had at one time “disclosed.” When Marm Hooker learned that he was present, she frowned, but when she opened the door of her sanctum, after repeated knocks and found that this same person had the unparalleled impudence to again ask for liquid refreshments, her indignation found expression, with such effect that the applicant slunk away in confusion.
An hour passed. At a certain signal the door would be opened and a customer admitted. Business had been brisk and the robust proprietress had forgotten for a moment the impudent assurance of the man whom she had chased away. There came another signal in exactly the prescribed form and this genial lady, opening the door two or three inches, had it pushed wider open and who should come inside but the obnoxious visitor aforesaid. As he came in, he slammed the door shut, locked it and put the key in his pocket. He then informed Marm Hooker that he should not leave unless she supplied him with a flask of whiskey.
It would appear that the robust lady was cornered, but subsequent events proved otherwise. Pausing for a moment in amazement at the boldness of the intruder, she rushed forward and seizing the man with an iron grip, hurled him against the door with such force that it was completely shattered, the victim falling in a heap outside.
Righteous indignation can accomplish wonders.
Those who reside in the great cities become somewhat callous to those frequent tragedies to which poor humanity is still subject. But there was considerable excitement in a little country town one morning when an elderly resident was found dead in a clump of bushes by the roadside.
The victim, named Kelly, was an amiable, harmless individual who was well along in years and led a rather inactive life. While there were no marks indicating violence, the circumstances were somewhat suspicious.
An inquest seemed in order and the proper officials gathered at a suitable location to investigate, so far as possible, the circumstances associated with the case. Inquiries, however, seemed to produce no results, until at last someone recalled seeing Mr. Kelly the day before in the company of Uncle Jimmy Daley, a kind and generally respected old man who lived on a little farm some miles away.
A sheriff’s officer was therefore hurriedly dispatched with a lively horse to bring Uncle Jimmy to the inquest. In a relatively short time Uncle Jimmy appeared, apparently very much cast down at the sad news regarding Mr. Kelly.
Various other witnesses, who later recalled having seen the deceased on the previous day, gave their testimony one after another, Uncle Jimmy sitting disconsolately in the background. Finally he was called forward and asked to tell what he knew of the departed.
There was of course an opportunity for the witness to go into considerable detail, but he did not apparently consider it necessary. And after he had made his simple statement, there seemed to be no occasion to procrastinate the proceedings any further.
“Yes,” said Uncle Jimmy, “I found Mr. Kelly yisterday here in tow-un and as he lives along the road toward my place, I invited him to ride with me. After we had gone up the road a piece, Mr. Kelly took a good sized bottle of whiskey out of his pocket and offered me a drink. Indeed he offered me several drinks on the way.”
The court thus assembled listened with breathless attention to this simple statement of the witness, but were even more impressed with his final words:
“Yes,” said Uncle Jimmy in a sad refrain, “I took what was good for me, and Kelly, poor mon, took the rest. And now he’s no more the day.”
Uncle Jimmy was excused. The court hastily agreed upon a verdict and the inquest was over.
Any record of New England rural life would be incomplete that left out the farm hired man.
The farm employer who does not make a careful study of how to get the best service he can from his help, and at the same time retain that good will and cheerful co-operation which are so essential to pleasant personal relations, is not likely to succeed to any satisfactory degree.
Mr. Murray conducted a large and somewhat rocky farm in the days before farm machinery had been developed to anything like its present state of efficiency. He had a large field of grass that he was in a hurry to cut and put in the barn. The field was pretty nearly rectangular and one July day Mr. Murray devised a very ingenious plan. There were four hired men to undertake the job of mowing the field with hand scythes. Three of these men were assigned brief tasks, the fourth taking his place to turn the grindstone while the proprietor ground the scythe. This man was then told to mow around the field.
Another man was called up to perform the same duty at the grindstone, after which he was sent after number one. The third and fourth each took their turn and was started after the others.
It took just about the same time at the grindstone as to mow across one side of the rectangular field. Consequently number one was just starting on the last lap when number four struck in behind the others.
The owner’s scheme was now plain to the four mowers. He was expecting each man would exert himself to overtake the next one. But instead of being resentful, the humor of the situation appealed to them. They entered into the spirit of the occasion with enthusiasm and before twelve noon they had completed their tasks and made a record.
Naturally the owner of the farm was much pleased with the result of his carefully laid out plan. But it is not to be supposed that other occasions did not furnish opportunity for the hired men to get even. The farm holder who tries crafty methods to secure abnormal production by his employees must expect to see the score balanced sooner or later.
That “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” is shown by endless demonstrations. A conspicuous example of that hope appeared in the unique experience of the country editor.
In a certain green valley of a New England state, there was a race course.... There were many gamey horses in that valley and the speeding fever ran high. Several successive trotting events associated with agricultural fairs, had drawn the attention of horse lovers to the excellent track. And so it came about that the editor of a little country weekly, who lived some distance away, conceived a brilliant plan. Tired of the meager rewards of news gathering, he decided to organize a trotting tournament on this popular track and make a grand coup.
Therefore he made his announcements of several races for which he solicited entries by well-known horsemen. The response in this respect was disappointing, but he felt sure the revenues from gate admissions would make the venture successful.
The eventful day was fair and the editor was quite elated to see a considerable crowd gathering to watch the races. This state of mind, however, received a rude shock when he sauntered out to the entrance to get an estimate on the receipts. He found to his dismay that a large proportion of the admissions had been on the strength of an annual pass.
Hastening to the secretary of the Association, he was blandly informed that the grading of the track had been done on a co-operative plan by which all the farmers of the valley who contributed a certain amount of labor were entitled to admission at all times, except during the week when the annual fair was being held.
This was a staggering blow. He was under obligations to pay the trotting purses and the prospects were that he would be several hundred dollars out of pocket. Accordingly he hastened to the owners of the trotting horses and proposed that they accept a pro rata percentage of the premiums as substitutes for the full amounts. He was coolly informed that they didn’t do business that way. Considering themselves victimized, the owners began to take their horses off the grounds.
It was about at this point that real trouble began to loom up. Of those visitors who had actually paid good money for admission, there was a large element of farm hired men. They began to clamor for action. They wanted what they had paid for. Getting no satisfaction from the race horse people, they demanded an audience with the editor. He was invisible. Finally someone reported that he had been seen entering the woods in the rear of the grounds.
Just as the vociferous youths had about decided to organize a hunt and capture the fugitive dead or alive, a carriage came dashing through the gateway and a well-known citizen pulled up his horse before the crowd, and demanded the attention of all. He said the gentleman by his side was the man they were looking for and that, although he had been alarmed by their threatening manner and had hastened away, he had come back to face the music.
The editor now arose and announced that he had arranged for the race events to be carried out. The volatile spirits of the boys were quickly evident. The races were called. The horses performed in a satisfactory manner and harmony reigned.
But back in seclusion the poor country editor was signing time notes to make up the losses of the day.
And yet hope springs eternal!
The husky farm hand who works hard during the day might be expected to retire early. And indeed he often does; but there are occasions when he does not find it necessary.
It is really astonishing how much day and night work the healthy outdoor worker of twenty or twenty-five can endure.
It was late summer and very busy times on the farm, but this did not stand in the way of plans for a certain evening’s festivities. These plans involved several young men, a robust but tender young rooster and a supply of fresh, green corn, also for roasting purposes.
The scenes of these activities were on the shore of a little lake. The fringe of trees stretching along the shore allowed the selection of a location which was invisible to all but the parties interested.
The banquet was a great success. The corn was delicious and the roast chicken even more so. There was an abundance of jokes and time passed rapidly.
A supply of fresh water had been brought from the lake, but it was warm and tasteless. Finally one of the boys suggested that he thought there was a cold spring near by, if they could only locate it.
Away from the cheerful blaze of the bonfire, the shores of the lake were dark as Egypt. But finally one of the boys said he believed he could find that spring. Taking a small, tin pail, which they had thoughtfully brought with them, he started out.
Nothing could be seen of the young man, but his flounderings about among the dense underbrush were plainly audible. Time passed and he seemed to have had considerable difficulty in locating the spring. Conversation died away, as all were watching and listening. Suddenly there came a noise of a succession of ramblings about in the bushes, followed by a loud splash as of someone falling heavily in the lake. The young men by the bonfire leaped to their feet. They were alarmed but speedily reassured.
There was a gurgling noise for a moment, next the sound of someone swimming in the lake and later pulling himself up by the bushes, and then the well-known voice of the missing man came back with the cheering words:
“Boys, I have found the spring!”
As before stated, it is the tactful farm owner who secures the most satisfactory production in the way of farm labor. The professional farm hand with years of experience behind him, is quite prone to be resentful of criticism.
One of these old-time laborers was employed by a man who owned several adjacent farms and there was always a superabundance of work on hand.
This farmer had a large mountain pasture for his young cattle and it was rather essential that the fences be secure, as otherwise the cattle might break through, wander away and be hopelessly astray before they were missed.
One spring an old veteran farm hand was intrusted with the task of repairing these fences. After several days, he reported that everything was all right and was assigned to other work. A day or two later, a man residing on the other side of the mountain, reported that the young cattle had broken out and were in his enclosure.
The “boys,” including the veteran aforesaid, were sent after the strayers and devoted the entire afternoon in getting them back into their proper domain. The next morning the same veteran fence fixer set out again with instructions to make a thorough job of the repairs this time, so that there would be no further trouble. He spent another day on the fences and came back at night with positive assurances to the owner that the young cattle could not possibly go astray again.
Two or three days later, the same neighbor came from the same distant farm, informing them that the cattle had once more broken through the fences and again a rescue party was sent after the wanderers.
That evening at the supper table those present seemed disposed to consider the entire matter a pretty good joke on the fence builder, who expressed his unqualified amazement as to how the fence could have given away after all he had done to put it in repair.
The owner of the farm who had listened to the various jocose comments in silence, finally volunteered an explanation:
“Probably a chipmunk ran along the fence somewhere and broke it down.”
When next the fence builder reported a satisfactory job, his guarantee was found to be reliable.
Sometimes the farm hand becomes a fixture in the family and is regarded with real affection by those whom he has seen grow up from childhood.