Chapter 47

NABOTH'S VINEYARD

>One hazy, lazy October afternoon, as my friend Kyrle and I sat on the broad porch hitting our pipes, sipping high balls, and watching the men and machines in the corn-fields, as all toiling sons of the soil should do, he said:--

"Doctor, I don't think you've made any mistake in this business."

"Lots of them, Kyrle; but none too serious to mend."

"Yes, I suppose so; but I didn't mean it that way. It was no mistake when you made the change."

"You're right, old man. It's done me a heap of good, and Polly and the youngsters were never so happy. I only wish we had done it earlier."

"Do you think I could manage a farm?"

"Why, of course you can; you've managed your business, haven't you? You've grown rich in a business which is a great sight more taxing. How have you done it?"

"By using my head, I suppose."

"That's just it; if a man will use his head, any business will go,--farming or making hats. It's the gray matter that counts, and the fellow that puts a little more of it into his business than his neighbor does, is the one who'll get on."

"But farming is different; so much seems to depend upon winds and rains and frosts and accidents of all sorts that are out of one's line."

"Not so much as you think, Kyrle. Of course these things cut in, but one must discount them in farming as in other lines of business. A total crop failure is an unknown thing in this region; we can count on sufficient rain for a moderate crop every year, and we know pretty well when to look for frosts. If a man will do well by his land, the harvest will come as sure as taxes. All the farmer has to do is to make the best of what Nature and intelligent cultivation will always produce. But he must use his gray matter in other ways than in just planning the rotation of crops. When he finds his raw staples selling for a good deal less than actual value,--less than he can produce them for, he should go into the market and buy against higher prices, for he may be absolutely certain that higher prices will come."

"But how is one to know? Corn changes so that one can't form much idea of its actual value."

"No more than other staples. You know what fur is worth, because you've watched the fur market for twenty years. If it should fall to half its present price, you would feel safe in buying a lot. You know that it would make just as good hats as it ever did, and that the hats, in all probability, would give you the usual profit. It's the same with corn and oats. I know their feeding value; and when they fall much below it, I fill my granary, because for my purpose they are as valuable as if they cost three times as much. Last year I bought ten thousand bushels of corn and oats at a tremendously low price. I don't expect to have such a chance again; but I shall watch the market, and if corn goes below thirty cents or oats below twenty cents, I will fill my granary to the roof. I can make them pay big profits on such prices."

"Will you sell this plant, Williams?"

"Not for a song, you may be sure."

"What has it cost you to date?"

"Don't know exactly,--between $80,000 and $90,000, I reckon; the books will show."

"Will you take twenty per cent advance on what the books show? I'm on the square."

"Now see here, old man, what would be the good of selling this factory for $100,000? How could I place the money so that it would bring me half the things which this farm brings me now? Could I live in a better house, or have better food, better service, better friends, or a better way of entertaining them? You know that $5000 or $6000 a year would not supply half the luxury which we secure at Four Oaks, or give half the enjoyment to my family or my friends. Don't you see that it makes little difference what we call our expenses out here, so long as the farm pays them and gives us a surplus besides? The investment is not large for one to get a living from, and it makes possible a lot of things which would be counted rank extravagance in the city. Here's one of them."

A cavalcade was just entering the home lot. First came Jessie Gordon on her thoroughbred mare Lightfoot, and with her, Laura on my Jerry. Laura's foot is as dainty in the stirrup as on the rugs, and she has Jerry's consent and mine to put it where she likes. Following them were Jane and Bill Jackson, with Jane's slender mare looking absolutely delicate beside the big brown gelding that carried Jackson's 190 pounds with ease. The horses all looked as if there had been "something doing," and they were hurried to the stables. The ladies laughed and screamed for a season, as seems necessary for young ladies, and then departed, leaving us in peace. Jackson filled his pipe before remarking:--

"I've been over the ridge into the Dunkard settlement, and they have the cholera there to beat the band. Joe Siegel lost sixty hogs in three days, and there are not ten well hogs in two miles. What do you think of that?"

"That means a hard 'fight mit Siegel,'" said Kyrle.

"It ought to mean a closer quarantine on this side of the ridge," said I, "and you must fumigate your clothes before you appear before your swine, Jackson. It's more likely to be swine plague than cholera at this time of the year, but it's just as bad; one can hardly tell the difference, and we must look sharp."

"How does the contagion travel, Doctor?"

"On horseback, when such chumps as you can be found. You probably have some millions of germs up your sleeve now, or, more likely, on your back, and I wouldn't let you go into my hog pen for a $2000 note. I'm so well quarantined that I don't much fear contagion; but there's always danger from infected dust. The wind blows it about, and any mote may be an automobile for a whole colony of bacteria, which may decide to picnic in my piggery. This dry weather is bad for us, and if we get heavy winds from off the ridge, I'm going to whistle for rain."

"I say, Williams, when you came out here I thought you a tenderfoot, sure enough, who was likely to pay money for experience; but, by the jumping Jews! you've given us natives cards and spades."

"I _was_ a tenderfoot so far as practical experience goes, but I tried to use the everyday sense which God gave me, and I find that's about all a man needs to run a business like this."

"You run it all right, for returns, and that's what we are after; and I'm beginning to catch on. I want you to tell me, before Kyrle here, why you gave me that bull two years ago."

"What's the matter with the bull, Jackson? Isn't he all right?"

"Sure he's all right, and as fine as silk; but why did you give him to me? Why didn't you keep him for yourself?"

"Well, Bill, I thought you would like him, and we were neighbors, and--"

"You thought I would save you the trouble of keeping him, didn't you?"

"Well, perhaps that did have some influence. You see, this is a factory farm from fence to fence, except this forty which Polly bosses, and the utilitarian idea is on top. Keeping the bull didn't exactly run with my notion of economy, especially when I could conveniently have him kept so near, and at the same time be generous to a neighbor."

"That's it, and it's taken me two years to find it out. You're trying to follow that idea all along the line. You're dead right, and I'm going to tag on, if you don't mind. I was glad enough for your present at the time, and I'm glad yet; but I've learned my lesson, and you may bet your dear life that no man will ever again give me a bull."

"That's right, Jackson. Now you have struck the key-note; stick to it, and you will make money twice as fast as you have done. Have a mark, and keep your eye on it, and your plough will turn a straight furrow."

Jackson sent for his horse, and just before he mounted, I said, "Are you thinking of selling your farm?"

"I used to think of it, but I've been to school lately and can 'do my sums' better. No, I guess I won't sell the paternal acres; but who wants to buy?"

"Kyrle, here, is looking for a farm about the size of yours, and to tell you the truth I should like him for a neighbor. It's dollars to doughnuts that I could give him a whole herd of bulls."

"Indeed, you can't do anything of the kind! I wouldn't take a gold dollar from you until I had it tested. I'm on to your curves."

"But seriously, Jackson, I must have more land; my stock will eat me out of house and home by the time the factory is running full steam. What would you say to a proposition of $10,000 for one hundred acres along my north line?"

"A year ago I would have jumped at it. Now I say 'nit.' I need it all, Doctor; I told you I was going to tag on. But what's the matter with the old lady's quarter across your south road?"

"Nothing's the matter with the land, only she won't sell it at any price."

"I know; but that drunken brute of a son will sell as soon as she's under the sod, and they say the poor old girl is on her last legs,--down with distemper or some other beastly disease. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll sound the renegade son and see how he measures. Some one will get it before long, and it might as well be you."

Jackson galloped off, and Kyrle and I sat on the porch and divided the widow's 160-acre mite. It was a good strip of land, lying a fair mile on the south road and a quarter of a mile deep. The buildings were of no value, the fences were ragged to a degree, but I coveted the land. It was the vineyard of Naboth to me, and I planned its future with my friend and accessory sitting by. I destroyed the estimable old lady's house and barns, ran my ploughshares through her garden and flower beds, and turned the home site into one great field of lusty corn, without so much as saying by your leave. Thus does the greed of land grow upon one. But in truth, I saw that I must have more land. My factory would require more than ten thousand bushels of grain, with forage and green foods in proportion, to meet its full capacity, and I could not hope to get so much from the land then under cultivation. Again, in a few years--a very few--the fifty acres of orchard would be no longer available for crops, and this would still further reduce my tillable land. With the orchards out of use, I should have but 124 acres for all crops other than hay. If I could add this coveted 160, it would give me 250 acres of excellent land for intensive farming.

"I should like it on this side of the road," said I, "but I suppose that will have to do."

"What will have to do?" asked Kyrle.

"The 160 acres over there."

"You unconscionable wretch! Have you evicted the poor widow, and she on her deathbed? For stiffening the neck and hardening the heart, commend me to the close-to-nature life of the farmer. I wouldn't own a farm for worlds. It risks one's immortality. Give me the wicked city for pasturage--and a friend who will run a farm, at his own risk, and give me the benefit of it."