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Show . H? (jPU WtKM homer, jSjfok i SI Currc Jiff I (S&fc VVil C'Li WN.U.SERV.CE feVW THE STORY THUS FAR: Amos Croy lettled on a farm In Missouri, where he married and a son, Homer, was born. Sunday meant church, company for dinner din-ner and steer weight guessing. Dehorning Dehorn-ing of the calves, curing of hams, weaning wean-ing of calves, sausage making, and helping help-ing Newt break in the mules were all part of his work. He won a prize for writing "his most unusual dream." It eemed that everything was going wrong and tbe entire Croy family were in the dumps. Mrs. Croy suggested a visit to the poor farm. When they saw the misery mis-ery there, they decided their troubles were not so serious or important after all. That was her way to make the men realize their lot was not too bad. CHAPTER XII He was swinging his trunk, and, in a moment, would be on top of me. I jumped up. But a man next to me put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Sit down. You won't be hurt." I saw other people were risking their necks, so-1 did sit down, none too comfortably. The circus procession pro-cession turned a corner and missed me, seemingly, by inches. As I looked more carefully, I saw the whole thing was a fake. It wasn't a circus procession at all, but only a picture. I had heard vaguely of moving pictures, but they had always al-ways seemed off at the other side of ) the world and had nothing to do with me personally. But here they were and I was seeing them! In two or three minutes the parade In two or three mmutes tne paraae was over, and I was out on the street again. As I was standing in front of the building, trying to decide which way to go, there was a commotion among the people and a great sight-seeing carriage drew up. A few people got out, and, immediately that they , did, others scrambled into their seats. A man sitting at the front called out, "Come on and take a ride in a horseless carriage!" I studied the situation and saw it 'was free. By this time there was no place left except in the front row beside a man wearing a pair of gauntlet gloves and sitting beside a wheel as big as one on a corn sheller, except this wheel was paraUel with the ground, and was fastened on an up-and-down rod. I squeezed in, and In a moment the man shoved some things down and pulled other things up, and the great open-topped carriage car-riage began to move. A man, also sitting on the front row, stood up fcnd put his hands to his mouth and Shouted, "Clear the path! Clear the path!" People turned, terrified to see our giant conveyance bearing down on them, and darted out of the way, as we chugged and jolted past. But I had to pay for every chug and jolt, because I was wedged in so close to the driver that every time he hauled at the wheel, he dug an elbow into .. my ribs. But that was all right. Everything Ev-erything in the world was all right. At last we came to a kind of starting start-ing station where we all had to get out, and where new people got in. I felt tremendously triumphant, for I knew very well I had had a horseless horse-less carriage ride and that it would indeed be something to talk about. But moving pictures well, no one had ever heard of them, or cared about them. Thus, by an unusual combination of circumstances, I saw my first motion picture and had my first automobile ride within an hour. While we were there, my mother said she wished she could see a kindergarten, kin-dergarten, so Mrs. Day found where there was one, and took my mother. The next morning at breakfast, my mother was still talking about it. At last our stay was over, and Mrs. Day came to the depot with us and we got on the train. ( When we got off, the neighbor was there to meet us and when we got home Phebe had supper ready. She sat, with her gold-rimmed glasses and little turned-up nose, listening while we recounted the wonderful things we'd seen and done. Ma said the most interesting thing she had seen was the kindergarten. I was glad, after I had gone 99 miles, I'd seen something more exciting than a kindergarten. kin-dergarten. Pa said the most inter esting thing he had seerl was the stockyards. I felt sorry for him. We had an aristocracy, founded on land. Our people did not judge each other by clothes, or education, or family, even by money. A person per-son may have been known to have money in the bank, or stocks or bonds, but we felt these would probably prob-ably slip away from him and he'd end up living in an L with a rela-, tive, "If he has stocks and bonds. Why doesn't he turn them into land?" we asked, and it was a question ques-tion hard to answer. The only safe and enduring possession was land. A man who had a quarter section did not stand as high as the man who had a half section. After all, people had to be weighed on some sort of scales, and land scales were as good as any. We had a love of the soil, as have the peasants in France, but I don't believe ours was as deep, or as touching. For in France they lived generation after generation on the same farm, while ours was a changing chang-ing country. Our people bought a farm, tilled it a while, then discovered discov-ered what seemed to be a better "location" "lo-cation" and moved on to that. A farmer might try corn-hog-and-cat-tle farming in our section, then feel he could do better in Iowa and move there. Or he might want to try the "hardpan" in Kansas, and so give that a whirl. Or he might want to try "Oklahoma red," and move down there where he would have to raise kafnr corn. To us, in our section, sec-tion, we considered kafflr-corn farming farm-ing about as low as one could sink. Or he might want to try wheat in Nebraska, or South Dakota, so trade his land and take his chance on wheat. Or he might want "upland" farming and move to eastern Colorado. Colo-rado. Now and then one of our people peo-ple would pick up and go to Texas where it was not farming but ranching, ranch-ing, which was something we didn't understand at all. One of the Sew-ells Sew-ells moved to Texas and bought an onion farm. No hogs, corn, or cattle. cat-tle. We felt it was a family disgrace. dis-grace. One who, sooner or later, came up against aristocracy of land was the hired -man. Our hand ate with us and nothing was thought of it. If a family poked its hired man off into the kitchen, everybody in the neighborhood neigh-borhood would have been outspoken. Evenings he sat by the same stove and took part in the family conversation; conver-sation; if the stove wasn't going to suit him, he threw some cobs in; if it was going too briskly, he turned i the damper and took care of that, j tip WSmt'. , Exciting sounds rang through the room. There was a difference when "company" "com-pany" was heard outside. He might get up to go to his room, but usually' we'd say, "You don't have to leave, Dell. Stay and visit with them." Usually he stayed. One spring, Pa began to hunt around for a hand. He went to town and on the street he stopped the people he knew and told them he was looking for a "good, reliable man." He went to the hardware store and left word there; then to the bank and asked Joe Jackson if he knew of any changes in help. Then to the livery stable to see if the proprietor knew of anybody looting for a "place." But he didn't go to the pool hall; anybody who hung around a pool hall wouldn't be any good. When he came home he said he'd heard of a man who seemed promising. promis-ing. His name was 'Renzo Davis, he said, a man from the east side of the county. A day or so later a spring-wagon with two men in it turned into our drive lot, but we did not connect this with our new hand, for usually a new hired man came on horseback with a couple of suitcases tied to the saddle. If he came walking across the field carrying carry-ing just one suitcase, we regarded him with suspicion. A man with one suitcase wasn't going to stay long. Especially if he wanted to see his room first. Or if he asked how many cows. It did not take long to see why 'Renzo had come in a spring-wagon, for he had a trunk and, to our surprise, sur-prise, a violin case. He had got a friend to drive him over; soon the friend departed and 'Renzo, our new hand, was left with us. After supper we sat around talking, talk-ing, going through the process of getting get-ting acquainted. 'Renzo told about crops on the other side of the county and prices things were bringing. He told about a big farmer who had put in a "hay tedder." It was the first time I ever heard the word. "I see you brought your fiddle," Pa said, finally. "Would you mind playing us something?" "I'll try it," said 'Renzo obligingly, obliging-ly, and began to tune up. plucking pluck-ing one string after another with his thick, work-hardened thumbnail. He got some rosin out of a paper box, put his violin under his chin and drew his bow across the strings. In a moment his foot was going up and down and our living room was filled with the first fiddle music of its whole existence. 'Renzo rested his violin on his lap and talked a while. Then back went his fiddle and again the thrilling, exciting ex-citing sounds rang through the room. When 'Renzo went off to his new bed, our room seemed lonesome. H was the best evening we'd had in months. "We'll wait and see how he pans out," Pa said. I hoped to God he would pan out. I am glad to say he did. He. was a good worker and didn't rest his horses too long at the ends of the rows, and didn't mind pulling milk-weeds. milk-weeds. It was understood on rainy days a hand could do light work in the barn, such as greasing the harness, har-ness, or cleaning out the cobs from , the mangers. 'Renzo would do more than that. If it stopped raining, he would dart out to the woodpile and begin' to split railroad ties. If i! started to rain again, he would gc back to the barn and climb into the manger with his cob basket. We saw we had a treasure. Bui Pa still was skeptical. Now and ther we would get a treasure; but somt night he would come home as drunl) as hell. Sometimes we'd have tt go to town and bring him out. Bui if one ever got drunk enough t land in jail, Pa was through with ' him, no matter how perfect he waj in other respects. One day 'Renzo told Pa that il Pa would get him some traps h would see what he could do aboul the gophers. Never before had a hand volunteered to trap gophers, for it meant additional work; on top of this Pa didn't think he could trap them, gophers being what they are. So he gave him a steel trap and told him to see what he could do. In a day or two, 'Renzo came in with a gopher tail. Soon he had another. an-other. So Pa went to town and got half a dozen traps. 'Renzo would dig a hole about a foot square until it crossed the run, then get on his knees and go through a careful process proc-ess of covering the trap and weighting weight-ing the tongue with just the right thickness of dirt. Then he would fasten the trap to the board and put the board over the top of the hole and cover it with dirt so as to shut out the light. In a day or two he would have a gopher. 'Renzo became a most welcome addition to our family; he was cheerful and had a sense of humor and could tell the simplest thing that had happened to him during his day's work and make it absorbing. I began to realize, after a time, that he exaggerated. But that was all right; the element, of essential truth was there; and by making allowances al-lowances we could come pretty close to the kernel. The neighbors came to esteem him and when we were invited to a party, 'Renzo went along as a matter mat-ter of course. Sometimes I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the most welcome one of us. He developed a quality that few hands had. Of making money in addition to his wages. A horse belonging be-longing to a neighbor had been shocked by lightning and was considered con-sidered worthless. 'Renzo traded for him, put him by himself in a pasture on soft ground and brought him out of his shakes. He traded him for a better horse and pretty soon bought a set of harness at a public sale. Little by little he began be-gan to "pick up" things. Gradually, as his cir.de of acquaintances ac-quaintances widened, there came a social problem. He wanted to "go" with the girls, and there the heart-wrench heart-wrench began, for 'Renzo, however deserving, owned no land. Personally Person-ally he was pleasing and he was capable. ca-pable. But he didn't own land. Saturdays he would stand on the edge of the sidewalk, on the west side of the Square, where the crowd was thickest, and when one of our farm girls came along, he would take off his hat (which some of our young men didn't do) and speak to the girl and make an excuse to walk down the street with her. Sometimes Some-times he would come to the back of tne grocery wnere tie Knew the girl and her family were having dinner (trying to pretend this was accidental) acci-dental) and make friendly advances. This was all right, but he mustn't ask them to go anywhere with him. The girls who had spoken to him so friendly at the debates and spelling and ciphering matches, now, on the streets, could hardly see him. He bought a black derby, which was the kind of hat the "city" men were wearing, and kept it carefully in the hatbox side of his trunk, but this did not change his social status. He'got a new suit but even this made no difference. A fashion of white hands was going around, so he bought heavy pigskin gloves and wore them so they would sweat his brown paws white. He wore a red bandanna handkerchief drawn tight up against his neck, with the ends poked through a brass ring, so his neck would be white, too. He never spoke to me about it except once. It was at the end of a corn row while -we were resting our teams. "I guess they look down on me. But someday they won't You'll : see!" j (TO BE CONTINUED) |