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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 16, 1928)
21 “Other people know him— he’s the sou of the George Tarkhurst Grahams wtio are so very prominent socially—and financially, as well.” ftaiiy thought rapidly, and succeeded in briuging up a fa.ut memory of a fair-haired, rather stout young man who v as—why, he must be much, much younger than Adelaide— a mere boy. The name of Gra liaui was unodubtcdly well known in the w'orld of busi ness; as to its eminence social ly, she wasn’t so sure. “Yes, 1 think I know who they arc,” she said, as cordial ly as possible. “Have they more than one son!” “Only one, fortunately. He will inherit quite a fortune some day. Meanwhile—he’s very charming and very desir able, even though he doesn’t happen to have made himself a niche in your memory.” soon.” “Oh, possibly,” Adelaide eerlainly was carrying it off in her most affectedly languid otyle, which had always much amused the Chases. “I must hr off. You might say good bye for me to Josephine Jen ney—I’ve been too busy to look her up. 1 suppose I must n’t leave a tip for her! She probably wouldn’t mind—but you would.” Snlly didn’t answer that. ‘VVliat need! She saw Adelaide into the car, gave Jimmy his directions, and said in her pleasantest voice: “Goodbye, Adelaide. He sure to let Jim my take you for all your er rands before you send him back.” Ami was conscious of a feeling of intense relief when the car swung round the corner and out of sight. Also she thought she knew, if ever in hor life, why fishwives of his tory have been reported as breaking now and then into bdlinrrsgate I (From Josephine Jenney’s Nfttebook) What next! Ami what to dul l)r. Mary Rutherford, the game splendid, wise, energetic person. Her visit, the short contact with her, like a call to arms. I want to go—I want to stay -I want— 1 dare not put down what I want. It isn’t mine—it can’t Ik mine— Julian. . . . I look at his picture so often •—1 need to look at it often—to have the sight of it tell me what to do. What a face l A wonderful face. It might have been the face of . . . Josephine Jenney—you’ll do what you must do. There’s just one thing clear Julian. xx ir. '‘Mrs. Chase, would yout husband rare to see me?” Cordon Mnckay stood in the doorway, hat in hand. Sally Chase looked at him in sur prise. Usually lie came straight over the lawn to the place where Schuyler was almost in variably to be found. Why, she wondered, should he have become so formal that he must needs inquire as to his wel come ? “Why, of course, Mr. Mae kay,” she answered cordially, ‘‘lie’s always glad to see you. lb '•■ out in his deck chair, un til r the beech.” “I thought, possibly, I’d tired or bored him of late. I don't want to do that, yet I Isa' something I’d like to tell him this morning, if T thought him up to a bit of talk.” “He hasn’t been quite so w >1 this last fortnight, but I'm sure—” Sally paused. Her eves were full of trouble. She looked up into the steady eyes whb-h were studying her. Nothing but utter frankness was fair to this man, she felt. she said slowly: "He does seem to avoid company just now, Mr. Mackay. I think he’s unhappy and discouraged. Possibly the sight of a man like you, so full of llle and | strength, makes him feel aJl the weaker and sadder. You must remember what a change for him this illness has made. His life lias been so full and rich—n She couldn’t venture to go on, for she had been through a trying scene with Schuyler which had left her shaken. He had had an almost sleepless night, and in the early morn ing had called her to him to lie crying brokenly in her arms. It had been with the greatest dif ficulty that she had persuaded him to get out of doors, but she had persisted, because any thing seemed better*' for him than lying in bed where the very walls seemed to stand for the shutting in of his life. “I know,” said Mackay, very gently. "And I have a story to tell him which may divert him for a time from his heavy thoughts. May I go and try to tell it. 1 ” “Indeed, yes. And—if he doesn’t seem as friendly and welcoming as you’d wish, be sure it’s because he’s ill. He has liked you better than al most any man he’s known for a long time, Mr. Maekay. If you know that, you won’t mind what's really only seeming, will yout” “Surely not, Mrs. Chase.” She looked after him as he crossed the lawn toward the figure which lay so limply in the deck chair that it seemed hardly alive, and her own heart contracted at sight of the contrast between the two men. “When I was a 16-year-old boy, in Edinburgh,” said Gor don Maekay, starting his story as one who starts to pull against the tide,” I began to be interested in the life that went on across the city from my father’s home. We lived in Great King street. If you know Edinburgh, and I’m sure you do, you. know that between Great King street and the Can ongate there's a groat gulf fixed. I used to go through the streets that led to my fath er’s church, on Sunday morn ing—those great, stately, quiet streets. The ‘odor of sanctity’ of a Scottish Sunday pervades the very air. As T went I’d be thinking of what I knew was happening across the city on the other side of Princes street, beyond the Mound. Then in the afternoon I’d steal away and go over there, fascinated by al most the worst slums to he found on the other side of the Atlantic. I don’t know whether making an exhaustive study of those slums was good for a boy of 16. I think now I must have gone protected by a sort of armour put upon me on those Sunday mornings while I listened to my fafher.” Schuyler Chase was motion less in his chair. Ilis head was turned away, the thin line of his half profile presenting itself touchingly to Mnekav as he talked. Chase had barelv spoken when he came, had let his hand lie lifelessly in Mackay’s for an instant and made a weak apology. ‘‘You’ll excuse me, Mackny, if I’m not responsive this morning. I had a bad night.” ‘‘I’m sorry. And I’d go away ai onee, Doctor Chase, if I hadn’t something I want very much to tell you. I’ll tell it luicfly, but I thing it might in terest you a little, and I want your opinion about it.” So he had proceeded with his tale, without even the siek man’s permission, hurrying it, putting in only the high lights ! --anything, any way, to get it to him, the knowledge that he se strangely needed to have, to make hi it able to bear his great trial. Tl\ in a way, it was comprehensible to the man who was telling the story that what Gordon Maekay did or refused to do could make such an im mense difference to Schuyler Chase, the fact that it was so, and that in his hands lay the power to relieve a pressure of torment in another human soul, was quite enough. He had come to do this errand after what might never be told of struggle of his own. That was past, and he had now only to bring the trophy he had won and lay it at this man’s feat. “You’ve heard my father, Doctor Chase. You know how he eau preach. I suppose he’s a bigger man in these days than he was then, 18 years ago. But he had a certain freshness ot touch, then, that perhaps his later work may lack. It was a way of getting under men’s skins that he can never sur pass, no matter how lie keeps on developing in power. It seems to me that now he ap peals more to older men with more mature understandings. In those days it was the young men who heard him most glad ly—he had a tremendous influ ence upon them. lie had It upon me—I worshiped him. As I say, when I stole over to the Canongate and Cowgate on a Sunday afternoon it was as if I went panoplied in my fath er’s armour—the vileness there couldn’t get a chance at me. He would have been distressed be yond words if he had known of those visits. He did know it them later and was distressed even then that he hadn’t real ized what his boy was doing and prevented it. I had no mother, you see; and my father was always deep in the affairs of the great church. Its de mands were very heavy.” Chase' stirred a little in his chair. He was listening. Men did listen to Gordon Mackay. “I kept on making those vis its all through my years in the university. And by and by, I began to gather little groups together, over in the Canon gate, and preach to them—on the streets. I did it in a boy ish way, I suppose, but I was carrying to those rough fellows some of my father’s most strik ing presentations of the triPh, and that must have been why I got a hearing. After a time I eame to feel that though 1 should never make a great preacher in a great vhurch, like Carmichael Maekay, I could do a work among the common people. Mackay paused. Perhaps in all his life he had never—nor would ever—set himself a harder task than this one. To tell a simple tale of renounce ment, and make it sound like no renouneement but the vol untary selection of the less at tractive thing, was labor which cost a price in his own blood. “I won’t make a long story of it. But it will explain .to you now why I’ve decided that I’ll go presently to a church in the New York slums which sadly needs me. It’s dying for want of a leader. It had one once, a most notablbe one. Its doors were thronged. This man died, and since then there’s In on nobody who seemed to know how to carry on. I’ve the experience of alt those years in the Cannngate—I stem the logical man for the place. Of coarse, my mind is full of ideas for it—of how I can make the dingy old church thronged again. What I want you to tell me is—-is it a wor thy ambition f” At last oenuyler laase was looking at him. He had turned his head and his deeply shad owed eyes were fixed on Mackay. He was breathing more rapidly’, it was evident, less shallowly, than when his visitor had come. He was slow to speak, but when the wonts did come they were not in the lifeless tone in which he had spoken earlier. “Of course, it’s a worthy ambition,” he said. “Immense ly worthy. And as you say, you’ve had a remarkable train ing. Do you realiy want to ao this thing?” ‘•I want—” said Gordon Mackay, and then lie stopped, liis eyes lifted to the depths of the great branches of the cop per beech above kirn, lie set bis teeth hard. Then he got to his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets, took a stride or two about his chair, and finally spoke in a matter-of-fact tone which utterly deceived the man who was listening as if life hung on the words: “Some how the phrase has been used so much, in solemn tones full cf unction, that I hate to use it. And yet I do believe I can say honestly that at least 1 want to want—to do the will of God. Just now, this seems to be His will. I’ve got to do it, haven’t I" Whether I want to or not? Anyhow, I’ve made up my mind. When I leave Cherry llills I’m going to this church that asks me. It’s settled. 1 didn’t need your counsel, but l did need your approval, real ly.” Jle smiled as he looKea down at Schuyler Chase. A touch of color had come into the thin cheeks, a faint smile answered his. He had done his task, and here was that which he must accept as his reward. It was Schuyler’s hand extended, his voice saying in a tone which to Mackay’s ears spoke an almost life-giving relief from devas tating tension: “You have that, Mackay. It’s a great thing to do, no doubt of it. And some day, when you’ve accom plished that, you’ll have the sort of pulpit the son of your father should have.” Somehow Mackay got away before the unconscious and un meant irony of those last words could make him cry out, hu manly and brutally, undoing all he had sacrificed himself to do: “But it's in my hands, that pulpit. And I’m throwing it away—for you!” XXIII Josephine Jenney, a letter in her hand, came out of the Cher ry Hills post office. On the walk outside she met Gordon Mackay. The evening mail had just come in, and all Cherry Hills was accustomed to go per sonally to get this last mail of the day. In the small town this meeting of the clans was almost a social function. At least it provided an opportunity for the members of the small community to meet and greet one another, at the same time observing closely what sort of mail the others had received. Jo’s letter was a large square one, with an engraved address in one corner of the envelope. Though it had been expected, the reception of it had notably quickened her pulses. Mackey stopped her. “Miss Jenney, have you time to spare for a little walk? Out toward the old bridge, if you like that wav?” “I think so, Mr. Mackay.” “Just a minute, then, pleace, till 1 run in.” She turned toward the west —it was the shortest way out from the village into the open country. She walked along slowly until Mackay came rap idly up behind her and fell into step. His hand was ful of let ters, which he was stowing in his pockets. “I want so much to have a little talk with you. 1 was go ing to the house to ask if you’d take this walk. It’s such a per fer eventing as one doesn’t of ten get except in early Septem ber.” “It’s a wonderful evening. And I meant to walk out into the country anyway, to open this letter.” She held it up, and he could see the engraved address, which was that of a well-known wom nmn’s college. “It looks momentous,’ he commented, “with that sign ar.d seal. It was your college, wasn’t it?” “Yes. I suppose one never does see the old name without a sense of possession, does one?” (TO BE CONTINUED) A GOOD EWE FEED It Is impossible to say too much in favor of legume roughage as compared with Umoihy hay as a feed for livestock. It is invaluable for dairy cows, for growing cattle and sheep, and, in fact, for all classes of livestock on the farm, i It is even of great value for winter- I ing brood sows. Nor is the high feeding value of legumes the only reason for urging a greater acreage ->f these crops. They are, as every 'frmer knows, important soil build ers. Clover, alfalfa, soybeans and all other legumes add nitrogen to the soil, while timothy and other similar roughage crops remove large quantities of this element from the soil. The latter tear down the soil; the former build It up. At one experiment station splen did results have been secured by feeding corn silage and legume hay to pregnant as well as to nursing ewes. These ewes were fed one pound of legume hay for each three and one half to four pounds of corn silage. Silage alone, or sil age and timothy hay, gave very poor results. When these rations were fed the eyes weaned weak lambs. Besides, the ewes gave very little milk and failed to develop normally and profitably. Lambs from ewes fed silage and timothy hay or mUlet or sudan ha1* or other nonleguminous roughages make very slow gains and many of them die before reaching a mar ketable weight. According to re sults obtained at the 'University of Alberta. Canada, 50 per cent, of the lambs weane dby ewes fed timothy hay die within four weeks after birth. The addition of linseed meal to timothy hay at the Canadian university did not give as good re sults as when the proper amounts of protein and mineral matter were supplied in the form of legume roughage. There is, of course, nothing harm ful about timothy hay. The diffi culty is that it is lacking in protein, which is equally true of com silage. Hence, when these two feeds are supplied to the pregnant ewes, as well as to bred cows, the offspring is bound to be weak at birth, be cause of lack of the right nourish ment. Let us grow more legumes, not only for the benefit of our livestock, but also for the improvement of our soils. LIVESTOCK COST A number of our experiment sta tions are busily engaged in ascer taining cost of production figures with a view of interesting farmers •n better systems of farm manage ment. Rerecently one experiment station concluded a series of five year cost records on 25 different farms in Green county, Ohio. These show that the largest item in the cost of producing livestock is feed. In the case of the production of pork, feed and pasture average 75 per cent, of the total cost. Feed and pasture, on the other hand, rep resents 50 per cent, of the cost of producing butter fat and 64 per cent, of the cost of keeping a sheep a year. Those who ra'se sheep will be in terested in knowing that this in vestigation brought out the fact that the farms, which had the largest net income from sheep, raised from 80 to 103 lambs per 100 ewes and that those with the least profits invariably had a low lamb yield. Furthermore the yield of wool also had a significant effect upon profits. The sheep shearing the largest fleeces brought the big gest profits. These, of course, are self-evident facts; at teh same time many sheep raisers do not give fecundity and wool production the attention they deserve. The average amount of grain fed to sheep in these Ohio flocks for the last five years was one bushel of corn and one half bushel of oats per head per year. As an average from these figures the station deduced the fact that feed cost in producing a weanling pig averaged $2.81 per head and also it was demonstrated, as one would expect, that the larger the number of pigs per litter, the lower the cost of feed per pig. In other words one of the important factors in successful hog raising is to save as many pigs as possible. Methods of feeding have much to do with this. The manner in which a sow is fed during the period of pregnancy has a tremendous effect upon the vigor of the pigs at birth and therefore also upon the percentage that is raised to weaning. Methods of feeding the sow during the suckling period also were found to have a great influence upon the number of pigs raised to weaning time. It was again shown very clearly that high butterfat producing cows were the most economical. A cow producing a comparatively low yield o fbutterfat does so at a relative high cost per pound. Those who believe that dual purpose cows, that is cows of the beef type that usually produce a relatively low yield of butterfat, make up for this by the greater value of their calves, will gather no encouragement from the Ohio figures for they showed that the increase in the value of young stock of the dual purpose herds did not offset the average of higher milk and fat production in the dairy herds. This is the usual outcome in comparisons of this sort. The spe cial purpose cow is invariably a more economical producer than the dual purpose cow, the same as the strictly beef cow is the more econo mical producer of beef than the dual purpose or any other kind of cow. VACCINATE THE PIGS Many farmers consider it good policy to vaccinate their pigs at weaning time, regardless of wheth er there is cholera in the neighbor hood or not. They regard vaccina tion as insurance and consider it a necessary cost item in the raising of hogs. While th;re are many who do not follow this practice, there are also many who sustain heavy cholera losses from time to time when cholera suddenly strikes their nerds without warning. This is one of the years when it wui,;.a seem exceedingly unwise to run tile i«sit oi ij'Ck... , cholera in the herd as Uie prospects are ex cellent lor good prices, iiesides, we understand that serum is selling at figures that are said to be below cost of production owing to the fact that there is a large supply on hand. Serum manufacturers seem to be up against the surplus problem the same as farmers sometimes are and to move that surplus they are sell ing their product at what they can get for it. With cheap serum and strong hog prices there should ba more than the usual incentive for hog producers to seek the protec tion lor their herds that gcod scrum, properly administered, gives. According to government reports the production of serum in 1927 amounted to 1,386,321.000 cubic centi meters as compared with 809,939,000 cubic centimeters produced in 1926. In fact, the 1927 producticn, follow ing the severe shortage in serum in 1928, was 60 per cent above the five year average of 1923 to 1927, in clusive. Farmers who are not in touch with serum prices this year would do well to do a little investi gating on their own account and not run any unnecessary risks when the outlook is for excellent hog re turns. Hog cholera serum, of course, should not be bought solely on price. It is highly important that a good quality be secured. Those who have bought serum for years know where reliable products can be secured and it is a good plan to buy from man ufacturers known to have a reputa tion for producing serum of high quality and purity. While there does not appear to be a great deal of cholera in the country this year, it is still early in the season and there is no telling what may de velop later on as the corn crop reaches maturity. If the pigs are vaccinated while they are small the cost is not excessive and it is worth a lot to feel secure from the rav ages of that disease in a year like this. THE PURE BRED HOG The United States Department of Agriculture has for a number of years made a study ol the average price at which pure-bred livestock is sold for the preceeding year. Such a report, dealing with the sale of pure-bred hogs, has just been is sued. From this it appears ihat 86 per cent, of the pure-bred hogs sold last year were raised in the corn belt states; 10 per cent., in the southern states: and 2 per cent, in each of the mountain and Pacific ;.tites and the northern Atlantic section. There was a slight increase la prices for 1926 as compared with 1925, indicated principally by the fact that fewer hogs sold below $25 per head and mpre at Detween $25 and $150. There was about the same increase in prices last year over the preceding year as there was in 1925 over 1924. In 1924, for example, ap proximately 40 per cent, of the pure bred hogs, sold at auction and at private treaty, brought $25 per head or less; in 1925, 22 per cent; and in 1926, 19 per cent, sold at less than $25 per head. Also in 1924, 60 per cent, of the registered hogs disposed of at auction and private treaty, sold for $25 to $150 per head; in 1925 approximately 78 per cent, sold at those prices while last year, ap proximately 81 per cent, reached that level. A very small number in each of these years sold for prices above $150 each and last year that number also increased slightly as compared with the year before. These figures, therefore, are concrete evidence of the fact that pure-bred hogs are gradually coming into their own—a fact that Is recognized by breeders everywhere. That this price advance will continue this year cannot be doubted. First, because pork prices will remain strong and second, be cause more farmers are improving their herds with the express desire of lowering production costs. Im proved blood is one of the means for bringing this about. ABOUT HOG CHOLERA “No cure is known for hog chol era, but it may be controlled by preventing it from entering the herd or by vaccinating the hogs before they get the disease,” says an authority on swine diseases. For this reason, he warns breeders, whose hogs may have had cholera or if the disease is in the neighborhood, that they should either be careful to keep out the disease or should have their hogs vaccinated. When hogs are vaccinated they have a mild attack of the disease, but this immunizes them against the disease for life. The amount of serum needed for the vaccina tion and the cost of it depends on the size of the hog. A 60-pound hog usually needs about 60 cents worth of the serum, while for a full grown hog it costs about $1.50. It is often somewhat difficult to keep the disease from entering a herd of hogs. Dr. Metzger says, for it may be carried by streams which flow through lots in which diseased hogs have been, by breeding crates or litter, by dogs that feed on the carcasses of dead hogs, or even on one’s shoes. The germs are pres ent in all parts of the bodies and discharges of diseased hogs; there fore carcasses should be burned or buried deeply. Vaccinating a herd after cholera has started is costly and never en tirely successful, he says. THINK IT OVER Where agriculture flourishes best in the old world, you find the farmers are the most thoroughly organized along the co-operativa methods of any in the world. BUSINESS OF BEING FENNY By Frank Crane In no country In the world and in no period of history is so much space, time and energy shown in the busi ness of being funny, as may be seen in ‘his country and In this day. New. papers teem with comic pic tures, columns of jokes, and pages of humor. Whole Sunday supple mr.'ic are full of all manner of gew gaw3, jimcracks. cartoons, quips, abn:rditles, and monstrosities, where wrn to provoke laughter. Ar.d when you see a group of Americans reading lhis matter on a *u hu; ban train, they lock / i solemn a» wls Wn«t. in the matte-* >ith us? Am we an exhausted crowd of nervous wrecks, weak and sad from the lassi tude following business dabauch, ■jeople who must be s,.'.lvanized in o mirth by ultra-clownishness? We lik? a fool and love a mounte ank—once In a wh:’. '; but to live jrever among face-making, heel : racking, heehawing humans, whose .hole aim in life seems to be to pro duce a spasm of each.nation—this Is too much. To go to a vaude\ lie every day, to read a funny paper every day, is as bad as to go to church or to a funeral every day. Come to think of .t. the nrofessional funny man ana the undertaker have much the same facial expression. We hardly realize the fundamen tal lav: of fun which is that it is founded on seriousness. Without a serious bottom no funny structure can stand. A professional medium is most successful in convulsing his audienoe when he keeps a sober, and even a gloomy face A grim remark from a sour-faced Scotchman strikes us as witty, when the same thing said by a laughing clown will not seem fun ny at all. Pun is the foam a»d sparkle and shine of life, but it must be upon the service of great deeps. The waves of the ocean are mor? beau tiful than the ripples of a shallow pond. When we mak: a business of fun we are in great danger. Dr. Holmes points out the embarrassing fact that i when we once stand on our head be : fore an audience, that audience will never be satisfied unless we stand ! on our head all the time. Fun is like salt and pepper to life. A little of it gives relish, but too much of It spoils the meat. Q. Have the Federal Reserve banks any agencies outside of the Urlted States? S. T. A. There is one agency at Ha vana. Cuba. THE SOW AND PIGS When pigs are to be weaned the amount of grain fed the sow should be reduced. It is also a good plan to take the sow off pasture for a few days at that time until her milk flow ceases. During the sum mer, sows should run on good pas ture and be fed enough grain to bring them along in good condition to farrow in the fall. Three or four pounds of grain per sow per day should be sufficient. The young sow should be fed enough grain to provide for normal growth. Pigs plus pasture equal mere 'TOflt. SELECT FEEDERS CAREFULLY The practice of feeding younger cattle for market is becoming mom general. Some feeders who try fattening calves and yearlings am disappointed because they do not get as rapid gains or as good fin ish as they do with older steers. In order to secure satisfactory re sults In fattening young cattle. It Is necessary to select feeder calves of good beef types and breeding. Hogs multiply more rapidly than other farm animals and make greater gatlj* per 100 pounds feed consumed.