The frost catches the corn in
the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only
thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes,
you know where the price goes."
"Oh, but now, Mr. Camp," said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and
speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the
truth from an old friend like her, "isn't it a good deal because the
farmers' daughters want pianos, and the farmers' sons want buggies? I
heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were
willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living
off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too
lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly."
"He'd better not let _me_ hear him saying that," said the young fellow,
while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: "If he wants
to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this place and
try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he wouldn't want
it the year round; he'd only want it a few months in the summer, when he
could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over there on my
farm, while he smoked on his front porch.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140