In the earlier days of Oregon the State Fair at Salem was the great event of the Fall’s doings, and countryman and merchant alike contributed by their presence to make the fair a success. It was a week when the old pioneer, who lived in the Grand Ronde Valley would expect to meet his former neighbor in the East, who, perchance, located in Yamhill County and, railroads being scarce, old Bob and Florrie would be hitched to the prairie schooner that bore them across the plains years before, to participate in the annual gathering in September at Salem.

More people came from Portland in those days than at present, notwithstanding the increased population.

There were no bridges across the Willamette at Portland, and ferry boats handled with ease all the travel between the East and the West Sides.

Two brothers were the proprietors of one of these ferry boats, and the husbands and fathers of the two families indulgently gave over the proceeds of one day’s collection to their wives and children to spend as they wished in a day’s outing at Salem. Thursday was the day generally selected and every member of both families excepting the husbands took the early train for the State Fair.

On one of these occasions, along about 1882 or ’83, the members of both families were a little slow in getting started, and Capt. Robinson brought the previous day’s collections, a good sized canvass bag full of silver and some gold pieces also, to the train, where he handed it to the mothers for distribution among the flock.

“How will we proceed to divide the money,” was asked.

“Why, open up the bag and take out a dollar and I’ll do the same.” Which plan was agreed upon.

“Here’s four bits for you and here’s four bits for me. Now, here’s a dollar for you and here’s a dollar for me, and here is two bits for you and here’s two bits for me.” Just then one of the youngsters pulled on his mother’s skirts, and down tumbled the coin, necessitating a new division.

The money was put back into the bag and the same system started over again, only to be found impracticable.

Several gold pieces gleamed in the bag, one being a double “sawbuck,” as Dixie fantastically described it. There appeared to be no end to the disputes arising, when Conductor Stroud was appealed to for some of his wisdom in aiding a settlement.

The conductor had a merry twinkle in his eye when he suggested that he would be fair to both sides, but they must agree not to appeal from his method of adjustment, which was readily consented to.

Taking the bag in his hands, Mr. Stroud tied up the opening, then beginning in the middle he worked one-half of the coins as nearly as could be guessed to each end which left a place in the middle of the bag, around which he securely tied a string, thus making two compartments in the bag.

“Now, we will toss up a copper and see who has first choice.”

This was harmoniously done and producing a huge pocket knife, the bag was cut in two at the point where the string was tied.

“This is what I call ‘Knifin’ de dough,’” laughed the jolly conductor.

Each one of the bairns was allowed to slip his or her hand in the bag and take out all it would hold.

“I wish I had a hand like a ham,” cried Gordon.

“Yes, and I picked out the double eagle,” triumphantly exclaimed Miss Dixie, and all were made happy.

Semi-annual dividends by our streetcar systems usually bring gladness to the already bloated stockholder, but they never can experience the exquisite joy that these two families had in “Knifin’ de dough” on their annual pilgrimage to the State Fair.