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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 2, 1928)
pi— i * mm—mmm—m—mmmmmmmmm * —mm—m—m——mmrn—rn—m——<~mm« “A few days ago,” she be gan, ‘‘I came downstairs at an unfortunate moment, and overheard something I wasn’t meant to overhear. I should never tell it to you or to any body if it didn’t seem neces sary. I can’t help thinking, since Doctor Chase’s condition seems so serious, that you ought to know what I heard li m sav about you. Because just after lie had said it, Doc tor Fiske carried him upstairs and put him in bed, ami, he’s been there most of the time since.” Macks/ looked both aston ished and concerned. ‘‘NVhat was it f ” ‘‘It was this: ‘I can stand having anybody take my place except (Jordon Maekay. If he does it I'll go mad. I warn you—I'll go mad!” Maekay stared aV. her in amazement. ‘‘Take his place,” lie repeated. <lWhat placet” ""Why,” said Jo Jenney straightlorwardlv, ‘‘I suppose of course he meant his place in Hie church. His pulpit. You had just iweached in it.” And now Maekay laughed, •with evident relief. ‘‘His pul pit! Why, by all that's absurd, you’re era /.y yourself, Miss Jenney. Because I supplied his pulpit one Sunday in an emergency—and a summer Sunday, it was, when city churches take what they can get—why, that’s no reason ■why it should enter anybody’s head that I should ever do it _* 19 ci n i ■ « • But Jo continued to look eearchingly at, him. “I eould ,\’t help,” ahe said, “since I >'as with Mrs. Chase and you, overhearing Mr. Pierpont ask you if you wouldn’t take the other two Sundays in August.” “if you heard that.” count ered Mack ay, “you also heard me say +hat T was tied up to the Cherry Hills church, and wouldn’t leave it again.” “Yes, 1 did,” admitted Jo. “But 1 saw Mr. Pierpont'a face when you said it. And 1 heard liim say—'‘All right—but I'm coming up to see you.’ And I knew that meant he was very much interested in you. He could hardly help being inter ested,” she added. “One could have heard a pin drop in that church every minute you were preaching. People even forgot to fun themselves, though it was terribly hot.” But Maekay made no sign ot having heard this testimony to his effectiveness. His one idea seemed to he to get at what Schuyler Chase could have meant by saying that which Jo had overheard. “1 can’t con ceive,” he mused, "how the poor fellow could have got such a notion into his head. That church is devoted to him, proud of him—it will wait for 1 * 1 IP. *1 I • A t -.11 mm nucmiiM i y, in n himiuu. There’* nobody like him.” “There hasn't, been,” do said simply. “Hut lie’s ill very ill. And bis eyes—I think he sees Wins clearly very day. It's pitiful to see him try to dis guise it but Mrs. Chase realizes it. and so do I.” Maekay was silent. TIis face had grown very grave. He sliovi I his hands into liis pock ets and began to pace slowly about among the blueberry l)ii slw-s, while .lo, sitting on a stump, let her eyes foilow him because it was so evident that be was thinking of nothing ex ■ct pt Schuyler Chase A extrem ity. He looked like a man who has heard had news of one of his best friends, and as if he w* re trying to discover some thing lie could do about it. His rugg'dly fine featured Scot tish face had never seemed to Jo more attractive. When he finally paused before her, she was more or less prepared for his question, it seemed so log ically the result of his eogita < all That Literature? •JUn deiTloiM of an Old Clrcua Clown," by Hob Sherwood In i bout Uu* year lMd t wal at - lathed to U»e Harmon show- at the Olympic Gardena in London Mark Twain atari waa In London at the itiiir. ihortly alter tie !allure of tils pubi. ii'n* tiuaiueaii We met often tn wnilu toaellter In Hyde park. In teU I wa* eondu 'tn* a book ■tore in New York City oppoalte Ore,* church Mlatk tw at tha* time living at Tenth »tr*fl and Fifth a venue, and o**d to < o*«e art* i.a and m me at moat every da» and we would have lunch to •vtr.vf at Um «ld kt Genla hotel. 24 tions. “What can I do for him? How can I get this ridiculous but upsetting idea out of his head as soon as possible? I can’t go and say: ‘See here, this is nonsense,’ because I’m not supposed to know he ever said such a thing. Hut I must do it, somehow. He’s in no shape to fight fancies, no mat ter how preposterous they may be." “Why not go and see him, as you do so often, and see how things develop?" Jo pro posed. “You haven’t been in since that Sunday you preached. Not going in of it self may have made him think _11 “You’re right." Mackay’s face lightened. “I’ve been kept away by all sorts of things—people dying, commit tee meetings, and so on. But he can’t know that. And he does know how simple men as~ pire to stupendous things, and imagines I’ve got this absaird bee in my bonnet. I’ll go to day. I’ll go now. Come—you can’t get any more blueberries out of this arid pasture. Let’s go along, and I’ll make the call instantly. His will to be about the bus iness bore her along. He helped her over the fence and set out at a great pace down the road, as if be had but one purpose ip the world—to get to a man in a ditch and pull him out of it. He even forgot to offer to carry Jo’s lightly burdened pail—which was evidence enough of his abstraction of mind, for he was peculiarly scrupulous in such small mat ters. Sally Chase had averred that he must have been biought up in his youth in a most mannerly Scottish house hold—which happened to be true. At the gate of Cherry House he noticed the omission, said: “Sorry I was so careless. Was it too heavy—with a smile; but then made straight across the lawn to Schuyler’s chair, which stood in its usual place under the beech. When he went away, only 10 minutes later, it was because he had been received so cold ly, and been shown so clearly that his call was unwelcome, that he was more puzzled than before. Sally had not been present, and Chase had been excused in a way by his own evident weakness and unfit ness for conversation. But he had not before failed, no mat ter how unwell he had been, to be courteous and appreciative. More than that, he had shown an increasingly cordial pleas ure in Mackay’s visits. He had even sent for him, now and then, as if there were no one at hand more acceptable or congenial. Therefore, this ^ • i . f i . J_ lll^lU I lid IIII i Ui luuar, unsmiling face, showed to his new friend plainly enough that something serious indeed had come between the two men. Maekay walked homeward with a sense of deep unhappi ness over the situation which he felt to he mostly conjured out of the air or the imagina tion, so unreal it seemed as far as any actual cause for it could be discovered. At his own door, however, he found some light upon it. Before the door stood the shin ing motor with its liveried chauffeur which he had seen before and recognized, and as he came up a high colored faee appeared at the ear window. A broad smile broke over the faee as Sage Pierpont prompt* I lv got out of the ear, his hand extend'd. “I am relieved to find you, Mr, Maekay,” the elder man announced. “May I come in i again? I waited for you half an hour in your comfortable We used to slip Into the cafe for an > appetiser, He aaa not a heavy i drinker, but waa accustomed to I 14k** an eye opener occasionally. ! Several tunes the i.Uxokiglst set Into out a chaser o water which Mark regular!) oust, d aside with the remark AVhai * the use of starting a fire and p tllng U right out again 7” it waa about this time his stories began to be printed m English and Canadian editions wi'houl his con tent. In an effort to pul a stop to It he tried to get tht >ugh an Inter national copyright bill at Washing ton He waa unauci »<tul, however. In tits efforts. Turn .:.**» was iSsn study, where I found my way myself. No doors locked in Cherry Square, eht” “People from the outside world seldom want anything to be found in Cherry Square, Mr. Fierpunt,” replied Mack-ay. “We don’t need to keep our doors locked.” “Don’t they? Then I am an exception to that rule. I want something to be found in Cher ry Square, and want it very much.” He proceeded to elaborate this statement, which evident ly struck him as a happy way of putting it. He sat overflow ing the small Manse’s biggest shabby chair, smoking one of his own heavy cigars, and talk ing blandly and confidently. He spoke of thp two church services at which he had heard Mackay preach, and expressed his regret that Mackay hadn’t seen his way clear to take the city church pulpit those two remaining Sundays in August. He said that he had found but a poor stick with which to fill them. If Mr. Mackay could even yet arrange to come, the poor stick could be thrown out at a moment's notice. When at this suggestion Mackay had shaken his head in a most de cided negative, Pierpont had leaned back, smiling with sat isfaction, and told him that he admired in him that quality of saying a thing and sticking to it, even when it was against his own interest. Pierpont sup posed, he said, that that was “the Scotch of it.” Mackay was silent. He was beginning to hear more than an inkling of where these preliminaries were leading. Al ter all, the idea in poor Schuy ler Chase’s *ead hadn’t been so preposterous after all. If ever a man without a purpose and a will to carry it out sat be fore another, that man was sit ting before Gordon Mackay. And now Pierpont was say ing in the kindliest tone in the world that he was deeply af fected by the knowledge that Doctor Chase was so seriously ill. Mackay hardly listened while Pierpont said all the ob viously appropriate things he was due to say in the circum stances. And then, when they had been properly said, the real business of the call was brought to the fore. “Mr. Mackay, I frankly ad mit that I am enormously in terested in you. As one who occupies a certain responsible position in the church it is my duty to be interested in men who could conceivably fill the great place which is in due time so sadly to be vacant. Not in a long time have I lis tened to a man who seemed to me so full of promise as your self. I am not alone in my opinion. Though many of the chief men of our church are away upon vacation, several whose opinion I value highly are in town. They heard you speak and they feel as I do. Mr. Mackay, as I understand it, your duty to this little church in Cherry Hills expires lki' 4 Itn f i i»o f nf ' Mackay nodded. He was clear enough now as to what was coining. It was not the first time he had listened to a chairman of committee ap proaching him upon such a subject. The son of Carmichael Mackay was not so unknown as be had seemed to be. “Of course, while the slight* est chance remains of Doctor Chase’s recover. , we can only engage a supply. But lie can be what is called in our church a ‘stated supply,’ which means that he is virtually the church’s minister. I have a very sure instinct, Mr. Mack ay, in such matters, ns in my own world of business. 1 am very confident that if you come to us for about two months, say October and No vember, while our members are returning from their country places and from travel abroad, the engagement would result in your being asked to become this stated supply during the speaker of the house. He was a very good friend of Mark's, who told me the following story nbou. him. He aald: T got on the train at Jersey City tbe other day 'o go to Washington On the train was a lot of great big dirty, greasy politicians. Tom Heed included Tom aald to me: Mark, what you going to Washington tor?' and I said. Torn. I am going to Washington to lobby for an in ternational copyright- our Htera ary efforts must be protected for our puetertty ’ And Tom Reed, the groat big. dirty, greasy politician said to at* Ureal God Mark, you period of waiting for Doctor Chase's recovery. My predic tions need go no further than that—they wouldn’t be seem ly.. But to a man of your still youthful years I can’t imagine a greater compliment than such an invitation. And I can’t imagine your rejecting it.” He sat baik in his chair, sat isfied with his own slightly “by no means his father’s and confident that he must have made a deep impression He had done so. With all Mackay’■ unreadiness to think well of himself, with all his honest conviction that he was as he had said to Sally Chase, son,” he knew that Sage Pier son,” he knew that Sageg Pier pont was not mistaken in his judgment, and that Gordon Mackay could fill his place. He could do the work, if not as Schuyler Chase had done it, yet in his own fashion, and men would not be disappointed in him. “As a strong man re joiceth to run a race,” so Mackay felt his pulses throb bing. and his blood tingling, at the thought of such a future. If he had not yet satisfied that distinguished and exact ing father of his, Mackay of Edinburgh, now was coming into view the chance to do it. Mackay of Edinburgh- would be proud of Mackay of New York, there was no doubt about it l (From Josephine Jcnncy'j Note-Book) I slew him with my own hand. I had to do it. He took it like the man he is—like the man I’ve known he was, all along. Refused even to accept the idea that the thing might come to him, though he must known it may. Rushed back to do his best to repair the damage to the in valid's endurance of his fate. Well—-I’ve known Gordon Maekay—a little. I’m the rich er for that. A good many walks and talks and ehanee meetings, in all. Every one has counted. The summer's over—everything will soou be changed. I’ve only one thing to think oi—one person—Julian. XXI Can you tell me please, whether Miss Josephine Jen ney is to be found in tins houset It’s the home of Mrs. Schuyler Chase, isn’t it If” Adelaide Sturgis, just re turning from mailing a letter in the small post office across Cherry Square, stood still be side the large motor from whose open rear window a deep and pleasantly inflected woman’s voice had accosted her. A strong, decidedly fine face under a plain hat looked out upon her, the attentive eyes of a person accustomed to the world scanned her. “Yes, certainly. Miss Jen ney is Mrs. Schuyler Chase’s housekeeper,” Adelaide re sponded with a clear empha sis on the last word. Just why she had felt an instant impulse to impart this particularized information to one who merely asked the whereabouts of the nerson in Question. Adelaide couldn't have told. “Thank you, so I under stand,” said the middle aged lady in the ear. “Do you hap pen to know whether she is in!” “Probably she is. I imagine her duties would keep her iu at this hour. Won't you come in!” “I shall be glad to, thank you.” The chauffeur was out ana had the door open before the words were quite said, stand ing stiff and straight beside it. Adelaide noted his livery—it was extremely correct in all details. The lady, descending with quick movements, showed an active though slightly stout figure, exceedingly well dressed after a fashion as plain ns that of her hat. It was easy to see that here was some one of position and authority; Rhe had the indefinable air whieh betrays such fuels. (TO BE CONTINUED) don't rail that stuff you write lit erature, do you?* ” ’ • * . t'nria.mrd, From Tit-Bun. Houreholdrr 'complaining of let ter* gone artrayt: I forgM the P M O ’* name. Sat if I address • letter to "the basest imbecile In London'' who would get it? Postman; It would be returned to th« wrriter • • — -i Nw OnwM %bout It. From Pasring show Hubbv Thl* blueberry pte look , queer, dear. Wifey, Oh dear, maybe 1 put in toe much bluing • RAISE MORE BEEF , Now that fccef cattle prices are high and likely to r:mrin so for several years to come, more interest I will be taken in the raising and feeding of beef calves. That is as it should be It is a difficult mat- I ter to induce a producer of beef ! to feed his calves liberally when he is looking forward to an unprofit- I able market and yet, if a man is i going to raise his own calves for 1 the feed lot there is no cheaper way 1 of doing it, regardless of the price of beef, than to get the greatest possible growth on them while they are suckling their dams and that means grain during the nursing period, of which compartively lit tle ha3 been done in recent years. Calves like pigs and all other farm animals, make the cheapest gains while young and when a calf is to be marketed as a baby beef, that is when the plan is 10 put it on full feed as soon as possible after wean ing, there is no question but that liberal grain feeding during the nursing period is profitable. There are two ways of feeding grain to calves while nursing their dams. They may be fed in the pasture away from the buldings by arranging a creep for them or they may be kept away from the cows during the day time and al lowed to run to a self feeder in the barn where they can be kept in a darkened place and then al lowed to run with the cows in the pasture overnight. One method is as good as the other. The one to be preferred will depend upon con ditions. Those who are in position to let the calves stay in a darkened barn during the day find this an excellent one because the calves are then troubled less with flies. Some also claim that they will eat more grain than they will from a creep in the pasture. But when the pasture is a considerable dis tance from the buildings, so that it is impracticable to bring the cows up at night, a creep should bo constructed and in some place where shade is available- If there is no natural shade a temporary straw shed may be provided where tho calves can secure protection against the hot sun. The creep should be constructed close to the watering place of the cows, if pos sible, as they will be more apt to mail at auuie ouier places which cows do not frequent regularly. A calf will begin eating grain when two or three weeks old and it may safely be allowed to eat all It wants as there is no danger in eating too much when it has access to grain at that early period. A mixture of two parts by weight of shelled com and one part by weight of whole oats makes a good combin ation for calves running with their dams. Later in the season when the milk supply wanes a little lin seed meal should be added. Then a ration composed of 60 pounds shelled com, 30 pounds oats and 10 pounds linseed meal will supply enough of protein and keep the calves in splendid condition. Cot tonseed meal or some other pro tein feed may be substituted for the linseed meal, but protein of some kind should be added to the grain ration in late summer when grass is short and the cows begin to dry up. A calf that has been fed grain during the summer months will practically wean itself; at any rate, it will not lose in weight when weaned and put in the feed lot. On the contrary it will keep on gain ing and this is one of the advan tages of growing one’s own calves for the feed lot as compared with purchasing them on the market or on the range. CAPONS PROFITABLE I could tell you a dozen or more reasons for caponizing cockerels says an expert, but the two big rea sons are greater cash return from the sale of cockerels, and less ex pense in holding cockerels for table use at home. Most of the other caponizing con tribute to the foregoing ones. Ca pons don’t fight, they stand closer confinement than cockerels, their flesh has finer flavor and texture than flesh of cockerels, capons fat ten more easily at less cost, they do nnf KaoAm A nf n ran., - -__ I_ 1 * ■ ~ ———- ■'“•’dsj uwvMtcja uu at an advanced age, they bring a better price than cockerels—Oh! there is almost no end of reasons for caponizlng the surplus cockerels. The capons can even be used for brood ing chicks. It is wise, of course, to draw the line somewhere. That Is. don’t ca ponize all cockerels. The early hatched chicks bring good returns as broilers, but the later hatches some into market at a time when the the market is crowded and prices low. These late-hatched cockerels canbe turned into capons and put on the market after Chirstmas holi days at a good price. If I have not made it clear already. I will say again that the premium secured on capons is due to the fact that they grow to much larger in size and their meat is decidedly superior to that of cockerels. Due to their docile habits they make beter use of feed, and they can run on the range with nullets all through late summer and fall. The big mistake some folks make in caponizlng Is to caponize every cockerel. Cockerels of Inferior stock never make good capons, and there is no gain in canonizing the light breeds, such as Leghorns. The American. EngIL-h and Asiatic breeds make good capons. Still is Is not wise to raise a meat breed Just to have large cockerels for capon Izing—the average farmer had bet ter stick to a good laving strain of the utility type and raise the capons as a side-line, if he wants to raise capons. The time for caponl*ing Is in June and July—about the time cockerels i begin to grow combs. This Is at about two months of age If th» cockerels attain the right size too ! MOV BRAN* VALUABLE It is well to bear In mind that j soybeans, grown for grain, would take the place of a considerable I amount of high protein feed that has to be purchased for cattle feed ing purposes' Soybeans, on good soil, yield all the way from 18 !o j M bushels per acre. *»■' i ■ —a STUDY POULTRY NEEDS Sunlight, or the tack of It, has a direct effect upon the feeds need ed by poultry Rations that give satisfaction in seasons or climates nf ample sunshine mag be entirely deficient In rainy or dreary weath er i late in th esummer, they will not reach marketable size eariy enouzgh to escape competition with early spring broilers. March is about the lsit date for getting capons on the market. A capon is not ready for mara . until at least eight monins old—that is, the returns fror* younger capons are not much bet ter than returns for cockerels. To prepare cockerels for capon izing, withhold feed for 36 hours. Withhold water for 12 hours The necessary instruments for capon izing are knife, spreader, hook and remover. These instruments can be bought at hardware stores or or dered from poultry supply houses. It pays to buy good instruments. A dollar saved on a caponizing set may be lost a dozen times as a result of poor caponizing. Put the caponizing board on * barrel or box. so it will be about waist high. Fasten the bird to the obard so it can not struggle. Wings and feet must be held securely. Pluck the feathers from a space about an inch square in front of the hip joint. Make an incision between the two ribs, starting at a point slightly lower than the point of the hip oint and extending lor about an inch. Press the nail of your forefinger between the ribjs an dinsert the blade of the knife alongside the nail. Press down hard and draw toward you, thus forcing the blade clear through in one attempt. Let the in cision be about an inch in length. Then insert the spreader and ooen the wound to a convenient size. You will find that a thin membrane hides the organ. Tear this mem brane away with the tearing hook. Now you will clearly see the organs of the abdominal section. If the bird has bee nstarved for about 36 hours before operation, the inten tines w'ill not hide the other nre'iina You will find the testicles along the backbone, and they are about the size of a navy bean and yellow in color. The spermatic artery is back of the testicles. Be careful that you do not sever this, or the bird will bleed to death. If necessary, press the intestines down with the probe in order to bring the testicles into clear view. Insert the remover, closed, and care fully manipulate the organ into tho opening of the remover, being care ful not to cut the artery. You can now remove the testicles by drawing out and twisting the cords. Remove the spreader, turn the bird over, and repeat the operation. It is possible to remove both the organs from one side, but it is safer to perform the operation from both sides. It is not necessary to sew up the wounds. Release the bird and see that when he stands the muscles of the thigh cover the inner incision. Do not house the young eapons in large numbers for the first week. Rather, put them in coops of not more than 10 or 12 birds together. Be careful when you feed them, as they have been starved before the operation. Give them a light feed of moist mash, made of bran and ground oats moistened with sour milk. Use this method of feeding for a couple of days until you bring them back to their regular feed. For a few days after the opera tion, watch for wind puffs. I have seen some birds bloat badly follow ing caponizing. This is not a dan gerous condition—all you need to do is catch the bird and puncture the wind puff with a sharp knife. Be careful not to cut any blood ves sels when puncturing the skin. In some neighborhoods there are men who do caponizing at so much per bird, or by the dav. The inex perienced person, or the one who dislikes ‘ operations.” may be able to have caponizing done at a reason able charge. VITAMINS CHICKS NEED Starvation in the midst of abun dance is an every day occurrence among little chicks on farms where the necessity of carefully balanced rations is not understood. Without certain nutritive ele ments and food properties called vitamins chicks cannot make nor mal growth, regardless of the abundance of other foods supplied them. This has been proved again and again in a great number of tx periments. Leg weakness may result from a shortage of calcium and phosphor us. Without these elements rapid growth of bone is impossible, yet grain and grain by-products which make up the bulk of ordinary chick rations are deficient in these ele ments. This defect can be rem edied by adding 5 per cent, raw bone meal to the chick mash and frrnimH nifctar pKnll 1IM. stone in open hoppers Yellow corn is the only kind of grain that furnishes an adequate supply of vitamin A. Therefore, it is recommended over all other grains by poultry experts. If a com bination of grains is made, the larger portion should consist of yellow corn. Vitamin B. which is necessary for good growth and health in chicks, is abundantly supplied in whole grain and shorts or mid dlings. It is not necessary to add vitamin B from other sources. Vitamin D or direct rays of the sun makes possible the assimila tion of calcium and phosphorus in bone formation. If the weather to too rainy or too cold for the chicks to get out on the range into the sunlight and minerals of the right kind and quantity are not fur nished. they are likely to have rick ets or leg weakness. Under such conditions the chicks should be sup plied with vitamin D in the form of egg yolk or cod liver oil - — ... - -■ ... nil> YOU KNOW THAT Agricultural discoveries worth millions of dollars have their course in the quiet, painstaking, often dis agreeable. apparent puttering" of research workers in tne state col leges and experiment stations. WHAT IFFICIENCV MEANS Efficiency as applied to the poul try business Is not a matter of arm chair philosophy It must r*** a practical proposition. 11 must mean something that ran be put Into practice on the average farm Mens theory will not do. Anything that cannot be put to practice by tha average farmer cannot be include* in an efficiency program. • • THOSE HtHY ( Hit RN Some of the reasons for hign mortality In young chicks are un. proper Incubation, inherited diseas es, unsatisfactory brooding equip ment, insanitary range rondlUoM •nd umifuuer faedltuf