Watch Yourself Go By Part 66

Al. can have the farm, but as for me it's first "back to the mines, Bill." With sad memories of the milk pail, the fork and curry comb, I am,

Sadly and sorrowfully yours, BILL BROWN.

Insofar as Alfred's knowledge goes, Bill Brown's pessimistic views of farm life were not accepted by any save Alfred's immediate family.

Alfred carried a copy of his address, "A Glimpse of Nature, or Back to the Farm" in his pocket. Mrs. Field preserved Bill Brown's screed. As one prediction of Bill's after another came to pa.s.s, she would say to Alfred: "There, see there? Even Mr. Brown knew what would come of this farming business."

The d.y.k.e was constructed and would no doubt have answered the purpose intended had it not been constructed of clayey soil that disintegrated and floated away with the muddy current the first freshet.

Chickens were the first purchases. Rhode Island Reds, Alfred a.s.serted, were superior as farm chickens. They were good layers, good setters and good mothers. One hundred hens and two roosters were the basis of the poultry plant. Alfred had read that one hundred hens properly catered to would produce on an average five dozens of eggs a day. Eggs were fifty cents a dozen. He figured that fifteen dollars a week would be pretty good. Of course, he had forgotten that farm hands eat eggs. Two dozen eggs were brought to the city and delivered to the home of Alfred, where the family rests up in the winter from the farm labors of the summer.

"Of course, it's not what I expected," he consolingly admitted to his wife, "but you can't move chickens from one place to another and have them do well. Howard Park says so and he has had a heap of chicken experience. They will do better when you get out there. You will feed them properly and regularly. Their laying streak has been broken up. We must train them to lay while eggs are expensive and lay off when they are cheap."

Alfred insisted Pearl keep a "farm book," entering on one page the expenditures opposite the receipts. After two months Alfred declared the book a trouble and worry. "Just spend what you have to and let it go at that. Howard Park says everybody has the same experience when they first go into farming." There were two entries on the two pages of receipts, nineteen pages of expenditures:

February 14th--Credit by 2 dozen eggs $ .98 March 11th--One bull 35.00

Alfred bought the bull from a neighboring farmer. "Registered Jersey, worth at least $100; I got him for $75," boasted Alfred. "The man needed the money." It was learned later that the bull had been accidently shot by trespa.s.sing hunters and permanently disabled. When Alfred was put wise to this, he sold the bull for beef.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I Want a Rooster for Every Hen"]

In the grocery bill, (Alfred furnished everything), there was a charge of four dollars and thirty cents for eggs. Alfred argued to his wife it was for hatching eggs for the incubator; that he had instructed Mrs.

Roost she must raise four hundred chickens at least. But Mrs. Roost, over the telephone, advised that farmers must have eggs to eat and she always cleared her coffee with eggs, and our hens were not laying and that most of them had the roup, and you can't expect eggs when you only got two roosters for a hundred hens. Alfred called up Mrs. Reed and advised that he must have more roosters. "How many do you wish?" she inquired.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AL. G. FIELD, 1886]

"Well, we are not getting any eggs. I want a rooster for every hen. I'm bound to have eggs."

The wife changed her mind as to Rhode Island Reds. She declared the only person she knew that had good luck with Rhode Island Reds was Mrs. Mott and she just lived with her chickens. "Now, Mrs. Goodrich has Barred Plymouth Rocks and they are the chickens." Alfred ordered a flock of Barred Plymouth Rocks. Someone recommended to Alfred Black Minorcas.

Charley Schenck had a pen he wished to dispose of. Alfred figured that since they had experienced so much bad luck with one breed they would soon strike a winner by having several kinds. Therefore, when S. S.

Jackson presented Alfred with a pen of India Games, you could look out upon the chicken lot at any time of day and see three or four c.o.c.k-fights in progress at the same time. The hands were kept from their work, attracted by the gameness of the c.o.c.ks.

A beautiful litter, (as Alfred termed them), of top-knots, Van Houden chickens, were the next addition to the poultry yard. When cautioned that he would soon have a polyglot lot of poultry, Alfred, for the first time, weakened on the chicken proposition; more for the reason that he was disgusted with their polygamous propensities. Although living in one herd, he imagined that each breed would live to itself. Alfred dubbed them "Mormons."

Pearl and Mrs. Field had become interested in the little chicks. As hen after hen came off, her brood was carried to the house and endeavors made to raise the chicks by hand. They had some forty or fifty, when rats, or a "varmint" penetrated the coop and twenty-four were killed in one night. The sorrow caused by this loss of their pets was partly compensated for by the closer ties formed with those spared. Each one was named. When either Pearl or Aunt Tillie pa.s.sed out of the kitchen door, the chicks would fly to meet them. Stooping down to feed them, they would fly on the shoulders of the two women.

One of the grocery bills rendered contained an item, "Four dollars for chickens." Mrs. Mott had also sold Mrs. Field quite a number of chickens. Alfred supposed these chickens were for breeding purposes. One Sunday the table was without chicken. Mrs. Field explained she had no one to go after them. "I'd have shot them for you if you had advised me you wanted chickens killed." "Chickens killed?" repeated both Pearl and Aunt Tillie, "Well, I'd like to see you or anyone else kill _our_ chickens. Why, there's Betty, Biddy, Snooks, d.i.c.k and Kelly; they're just like humans. You don't imagine for a moment we will kill any of _our_ chickens, do you?" And Alfred bought chickens for the table all summer.

Alfred promised his wife that he would look after the farming part. The chickens and dairy came under her charge. He therefore, sat down to his desk and wrote out minute instructions as to fields to be planted and designated the crops to sow in each field. He ordered a hill field, near the barn, sowed in buckwheat. The farmer meekly intimated that ten acres of buckwheat and five acres of oats seemed rather disproportional.

"Never mind, follow my order," haughtily commanded Alfred. "None of us care for rolled oats and we all like buckwheat cakes." Alfred discharged his regular farmer; he claimed the man got up too early; he got up at four o'clock and threshed around making so much noise n.o.body could sleep.

The hills had not been plowed in years. The land was shaly, easily washed. It rained from the day the family moved onto the farm until late in June. Seeds of all kinds from the fields above washed down into the bottoms below. Beans, potatoes, egg plant, rye, peas, beets and cow peas grew in the bottom as only noxious weeds and wild crops grow. From this conglomeration sprang the noted bean that Bill Brown and Alfred are forming a company to distribute.

The rain continued. The weather being cool, fires were necessary.

Nothing but wood was used as fuel. The wife protested the heat for cooking was not sufficient. It just dried the juices in the meats. A heating plant was put in. Kerosene lamps did not produce sufficient light, so a lighting plant was installed. Springs and well were unhandy.

Alfred installed a water plant. Alfred swore you might just as well live in the city if you had all city fixin's. The walks in the yard and across the lawn were inches thick with mud. Pearl and Mrs. Field, by the light of the wood fire, would read Bill Brown's life on the farm, while Alfred watched the barometer. The women began to talk about moving back to town. Alfred was as miserable as life could make him. Day after day the rain fell in torrents. The dam that formed the lake wherein Alfred intended raising fish in summer, and a skating pond in winter, and also to furnish ice, broke, flooding the cow stables, washing out the sweet corn patch and the garden floated.

Alfred was unmercifully berated that he had dragged his family to the country, destroying their happiness and spending all his money for--what, for what? Just to gratify a whim, a boyish illusion.

Alfred felt he must do something to turn the tide. The rain kept falling. He started to the city on his mysterious errand. Returning he proudly hung above the mantle piece this motto:

"It hain't no use to grumble and complain, It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice; When G.o.d sorts out the weather and sends rain, Why, rain's my choice."

The rain ceased. The sun shone, the gra.s.ses grew. Happiness came into the family. Ere the summer was over, farm life had so ingratiated itself that they did not relish the idea of moving back to the city.

Bill Brown is ever kind. He sent a half dozen guineas, advising they were "chicken-house sentinels." They multiplied more rapidly than any fowls known; that the hen laid forty and fifty eggs in one nest. Mr.

Field and all the hands followed those guineas all summer, nor did anyone find a guinea egg. After months of seeking guinea eggs, an old lady familiar with guineas advised Alfred that all of Bill's guineas were c.o.c.ks. It was true; they were all Shriner guineas. Alfred procured a few Suffragettes and guineas are now the most prolific fowl production of the farm.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Home, Sweet Home]

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It's curious what fuss folks makes 'bout boys that went away Years ago from home.

There's young Bill Piper that used to keep recitin', Do you know what he's done?

He's gone to actin', there's some that actually pay To go an' hear Bill talkin', public in a play.

Why, he couldn't chop a cord o' hickory wood in a year; He may fool the folks out yonder, but he ain't no hero here.

I am glad to have Uncle Tom visit us. He is a good man. It is true his calling made him very narrow when a younger man, but he was always kind hearted, and under his austerity there's a lot of man. I am doubly glad he is to visit us. I want him to carry back to my old home, to those who predicted a much different career for me, a few things I would like them to know.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Uncle Tom]

"What are you going to do with Polly?" inquired the wife. Polly was a bird purchased in New Orleans; warranted to be one of the best talkers ever imported; talks French, English and Spanish. The bird came up to the guarantee and even surpa.s.sed it. She can cuss in two or three languages not specified in the guarantee. The wife suggested we carry Polly to sister's. "But Uncle Tom will visit there and it would come out that the parrot belonged to us. Besides, it would be disreputable to have Polly's profanity charged to sister's family."

Janet Wolfe, a teacher of languages, was also a guest of the family. She and the uncle spent a great deal of their leisure talking to Polly.

Janet was particularly interested in Polly's Spanish and French. One morning the two were standing near Polly's perch. Polly was unusually talkative. In answer to a sentence of Janet's purest South End French, Polly rolled off sentence after sentence of New Orleans French Market French. Janet turned red, then pale. She hurriedly inquired as to whether Uncle Tom understood French. When a.s.sured he did not, she elevated her hands in thankfulness.

Uncle Tom adhered to the custom of family worship. One morning Uncle Tom's prayer was very long. Polly, evidently--like others of the family--was hungry, but, unlike them, did not have the politeness to conceal it. Stretching her wings to the fullest width, craning her neck, in a bored tone she squeaked: "O-h h-e-l-l. Give us a rest." There was no suppressing the laughter. Polly laughed too. Uncle Tom smiled faintly. Alfred pretended to chastise the bird, raising the feather duster over her. Polly began a tirade that all the family understood. It must have sounded to Uncle Tom something like this: "Go to h.e.l.l-go-to-h.e.l.l-all-of-you. Get-to-h.e.l.l-out-of-yere-dam-you, dam-you-all. Polly's-sick-poor-Polly. Chippy-get-your-hair-cut-hair-cut.

Oh-h.e.l.l."

Many were the arguments and interchanges of opinions as between Alfred and Uncle Tom. The younger man never mentioned the old days at home, he was more anxious to have the uncle refer to them. Many years had elapsed and Alfred surmised the uncle had forgotten events that were ineffaceably impressed upon his own memory. The uncle and nephew, held many long conversations. One night while alone the uncle took Alfred aback a bit, when he very abruptly inquired as to whether he was satisfied with his profession--his life. "I can see you are well fixed and financial success has come to you. But, are you satisfied with your life? Would you live the same life over again?"

"Uncle in the main, I am satisfied with my life. There are many things that I would prefer to forget and there are many things I hope to remember. As a boy, I was ambitious to become a circus clown." The uncle smiled. "This at first, was a boy's whim, an illusion. That ambition was based entirely upon a desire to acquire sufficient money to make me comfortable. It was a boyish fancy at the beginning but some of the happiest days of my life were when I wore the motley and endeavored to spread gladness as a circus clown.

"To see others enjoying themselves, to hear and see folks laugh, is one of the greatest pleasures to me in this life. But I am sorry I did not become something other than a showman." The old minister looked at Alfred in amazement. "I will always retain most pleasant recollections of the many friends that I have made in the show world, but, Uncle Thomas, I feel that I could have done something better for myself if I had only been as bent upon it as I was upon show life."

"Why, Alfred! You surprise me. What do you think you should have gone into? A mercantile business?"

"No, I never had any taste for that. Of late years I have often wished I had been enabled to enter the legal profession. I believe I would have made a success as a lawyer."

"Oh, as a politician?"

"No, no, Uncle, I abhor politics as I know them. I mean a lawyer. One who was respected by all the people in the community where he practiced.

I have often thought I would like to be a sort of lawyer and farmer. I never was satisfied with myself until I became the owner of a farm."

"Well, if you are dissatisfied with your business, I cannot understand why you have been so successful."