I did not approve of Marion's habit of keeping accounts at Waydean. There was always a missing balance, but I never could get her to see what a needless worry and waste of time it was to try to locate it, or how much better it is to take my plan and merely count the cash on hand to settle one's financial standing. It is diverting to me to calculate future hypothetical receipts and expenditures, but it is the reverse of entertaining to look backwards at the irrevocable past, the past that is called back by various carefully entered items in Marion's account book, prominent among which looms payment of three hundred dollars for Emperor mining shares.

It was one evening while I was engaged in preparing my weekly agricultural page for the Observer, and Marion was poring over her account book that she suddenly[Pg 105] dropped her pencil and exclaimed: "Henry!"

"Well?" I asked, with meek resignation, my brain beginning to stiffen, for I judged from her tone that she had arrived at some miraculous result in figures.

"We've been living in the country four months," she said impressively, "and what do you think I find? We've actually paid more for butter and milk and vegetables than in any four months while we lived in the city."

"How strange," I commented, trying to look interested.

My wife smiled slightly, in a way that I find peculiarly irritating. "You're only pretending to listen," she said, "and you couldn't possibly understand while you look like that."

My weariness vanished; I started up indignantly. "While I look like what?" I demanded.

Marion laughed. "That's better," she said. "I'd rather see you look angry than stupid. Now I'll try again to get your attention. Do you remember what you said[Pg 106] when I gave you the choice of a lawn-mower or a hammock for your birthday?"

I did remember. I had made a swift calculation at the time that a hammock would be easier to run, so I had urged Marion not to go to the expense of a lawn-mower, reminding her also that it might properly be ranked among the tabooed farm implements.

"Certainly," I answered, at a loss to know what was coming, "I said I would prefer a hammock."

"And do you remember that you promised to hire or borrow one of Peter's cows to crop the grass on the lawn?"

"Well, I didn't exactly promise. I said it would be easy enough to get one."

"And now the grass is as long as hay. Why didn't you do it?"

I frowned, for I hate insistent, unnecessary questions,—questions that are bound to lead up to some unpleasant climax that it would be better to avoid. I could stand being thrown overboard without ceremony better than being forced to walk the plank with measured tread, yet if I protest against[Pg 107] this Socratic method of arriving at conclusions she tells me with pained surprise that it is for my good,—that I should learn not only to regret my mistakes, but to thoroughly understand why I am sorry. Rather than have her say that, I am willing to answer any ordinary question with outward docility.

"The plan didn't seem so feasible when I thought it over," I replied meekly. "It would have looked foolish to offer to pay Peter for letting me feed his cow, and I couldn't make up my mind to borrow one, so the time slipped away before——"

"Of course it did," she interrupted; "the way it always does. But, after all, I think"—a merry light danced in her eyes—"I'll forgive you. There'll be all the more grass for,—oh, dear, you do look so funny!—our cow."

"Our cow!" I gasped, in stupefaction.

"Henry," she burst forth excitedly, "I've been trying to break it to you gently, but you don't seem to understand. I've come round to your way of thinking—you may go and buy a cow to-morrow."

[Pg 108]

It was a complete surprise to me that Marion should be so suddenly seized by the desire to own a cow. For my own part I would rather have started with a herd, but still, it was something to be thankful for that she did not insist upon beginning with a goat. Then there was the possibility that a cow might grow into a herd; that would mean a hired man, horses, implements, a large dairy business, more land, an ultimate fortune. Yes, I was more than gratified that Marion was beginning to see that my ideas on farm management were sound.

When I asked our butcher the next morning if he knew of any cows for sale in the neighborhood we awaited his answer with breathless anxiety. He half-closed his eyes, studying the mud on the wagon-wheel in profound meditation, our suspense intensified by this dramatic pause.

"I'll tell you what I'd do," he said, at last, pointing northward impressively with his long knife. "I'd go up there on the clay where the pastures is dried up and the farmers is feedin' hay at fifteen dollars a ton, and I'd buy a cow for half what she could[Pg 109] be bought for down here where the grass is green."

That sounded reasonable, and when he proceeded to name some of his customers "on the clay," I stopped him at the name Waydean.

"Any relation of Peter's?" I asked, with sudden interest.

"His brother," he answered, with an odd smile—"and it's a dead fright how them two men hate each other! I believe Peter'd go clean off his head if you was to buy a cow from John."

I smiled with satisfaction. Peter had set his snares in vain in many artful endeavors to sell me some of his belongings; with sunny smiles I had avoided giving him a chance to add to the exorbitant rent that I paid him, and he could scarcely conceal glances of sour disappointment in my presence. That I should buy a cow from anyone else would, I knew, be pain to him; his pain would not be less if I bought her from his brother John.

"Well," said the butcher, when I had announced my intention of having a look at[Pg 110] John Waydean's cattle, "I pass within half a mile of his place on my round, so I can give you a lift if you like to come along with me. Of course," he added, taking a sidelong survey of me, "John can't skin a man quite so neat as Peter, but he's pretty sharp on a bargain, and you want to keep your weather eye open when you dicker with him. Know much about cattle?"

Some people can boast about acquirements they haven't got; I cannot. I merely looked shrewd and modest, nodding slightly to the butcher, simultaneously with a faint movement of one eyelid. Marion, misunderstanding my silence, exclaimed confidently: "Oh, he knows all about that sort of thing. He writes articles for the Observer."

At this point I disclaimed, with becoming embarrassment, all pretension to unusual lore, but the butcher looked profoundly impressed and delighted.

"That's all right!" he said cheerily. "I know his cows is mostly fresh, but he's got one or two strippers."

I went into the house to get ready for[Pg 111] the trip; Marion followed me. "Henry," she inquired, in a confidential tone, "what are fresh cows,—and strippers?"

It was the very problem I was wrestling with. If the butcher had not been waiting, and if Marion hadn't followed me so closely, I would have snatched a moment to consult my books of reference, but I had no time even to collect my thoughts properly. I was in the awkward predicament of the schoolboy who knows he knows the answer to a question, but somehow cannot think of the words. I was in a great hurry, but Marion was so anxious for information that I did my best to enlighten her.

"A fresh cow," I said, struggling into my coat in jerks, "is one—in the prime—of life—and—and vigor; a stripper, on the contrary, is merely—a—a middle-aged—juvenile."

I seized my hat and hurried away. As we drove out of the yard I noticed that Marion was standing in the kitchen doorway gazing after me with the expression of one who is prevented from seeing the bottom of a pool by the reflections on its surface. I[Pg 112] waved her a gay farewell and hoped for the best.

I had a dim idea that I could find out indirectly during the drive what the butcher thought these terms meant, but I needed all my mental agility to make a creditable appearance of understanding his voluble allusions to grades, stockers, springers, shorthorns, yearlings, heifers, and numerous other varieties of cattle. My answers were brief and guarded, and when I tottered I was so swift to recover my balance that my errors were not apparent to my companion. On such occasions I may sometimes be suspected of not being familiar with a subject, but I would defy anyone to prove my ignorance. If Marion's reputation for veracity had not been at stake I might have been willing to act the part of a humble tyro asking for information, but since she had plainly said that I knew all about cattle it was my duty to try to make her statement appear credible.

I descended from the wagon feeling that I was utterly incapable of choosing a cow, but I concealed my fears under a mask of[Pg 113] calm assurance as I bade the butcher good-by.

"Mr. Carton," he said, in parting, "if you was a greenhorn that didn't know the difference between a stocker and a springer, like most city men, I'd say to buy your cow off of some other man than John Waydean, but he'll know better than to try to palm off scrub-stock onto you."

This cheerful prediction almost made me perspire with apprehension, particularly as scrub-stock was a brand new variety that he had not mentioned previously. My confidence returned, however, when I stood in John Waydean's barnyard and saw his cows paraded for my inspection, for no two of them were alike, and I could tell at a glance which were Jerseys and which were common cows. I took care not to express a preference until I found out which ones their owner appeared most anxious to sell, and these I instantly decided not to buy. Even had I not been warned by the butcher I would have mistrusted John Waydean, for his face had not the prepossessing appearance of his brother's, and his manner[Pg 114] was surly and suspicious. I examined each of the animals with a critical air, ignoring his evident desire to make me believe that an ugly creature resembling a bison was the finest cow, and finally chose a graceful, neat-limbed, fawn-colored Jersey. The reluctance to part with her that I detected in the old man's manner, and the fact of his asking me ten dollars more for her than for any other, confirmed my intuition that I had chosen wisely. I was about to close the bargain when the butcher's words came back to my mind. I looked sharply at the seller. His smooth-shaven face was creased with deep lines about the mouth—a mouth resembling his brother Peter's in its smug rigidity, but whether it concealed regret or triumph I could not determine.

"Mr. Waydean," I said, with stern incisiveness, "is that animal a fresh cow or a stripper?"

His reply had a ring of indignant, scornful reproach. Take her or leave her, he didn't care a blank, but I couldn't run no rig on him by asking such questions. However, since I had mentioned the[Pg 115] matter, I'd better come into the stable and see the prettiest week-old calf in the county. He'd sell it for two dollars, and if I raised it on that cow's milk he'd be willing to buy it back in the fall for ten. My lingering doubts were dispelled when I saw the pretty little soft-eyed creature, and I suddenly remembered that a fresh cow is one with a fresh calf. Marion hadn't spoken about getting a calf, but I felt sure that if I suggested it should be made into veal she would insist upon its being kept, then I would have a tangible nucleus toward the realization of my dream of owning a herd of dairy cows. I closed the bargain hurriedly, with the proviso that he was to hitch up his team and deliver my purchases at Waydean. In a few minutes the calf was hoisted into the wagon, bleating dismally. I looked for some demonstration of sympathy from its mother, but she appeared quite unconcerned and would not follow until she had been tied to the rear of the vehicle. I thought this rather peculiar, but the old man explained that she had always showed a great fondness for home and was[Pg 116] reluctant to leave. During our drive he was almost as voluble as the butcher had been, discoursing of the iniquities of the man whom he was ashamed to call his brother. "Mr. Carton," he warned me solemnly, "I wouldn't put it past him to come over and run that cow down, he'll be that mad that you knew too much to buy one off of him, but don't you believe a word he says. A man that'd go into court and swear as he done in connection with my late father's property wouldn't stick at nothin'. You watch Pete; if he ain't took you in on the rent, he'll even up in some other way, for it ain't in him to act straight and square like me."

*         *         *         *         *         *         *

"The dear little lovely thing! I do believe it's hungry, Henry. How are you going to feed it?"

I have been asked many questions for which I have been obliged to invent answers, but this was not one of them. I had never owned a calf before, so my ideas on calf-raising were logical and [Pg 117]conclusive. The theory that the progeny of a cow should not be allowed to associate with the mother was, I explained, founded upon true scientific laws. A calf brought up on a milk-pail would learn to take its food at stated intervals, escape indigestion, heaves and hollow horn, and grow up into a gentle, courteous and productive adult; while the mother, segregated from an otherwise guzzling, irrational, worrying offspring, would chew her cud in the placid beatitude most essential to the production of the largest quantity of rich milk.

Marion listened silently, with a knowing smile, but when I had finished she remarked that I knew perfectly well that I was talking rubbish, and that the natural way of feeding anything was the right way. Hadn't I better get the soup ladle and her mixing-bowl and teach the calf to sit up properly at the kitchen table while I was about it?

I replied rather hastily, and before I had finished speaking Marion left me and went into the house. I was alone with a calf, a cow, and a guilty conscience; alone at the[Pg 118] very time when I most needed help and encouragement. Five minutes before I had looked on my purchases with exultation, while my wife stood in the stable beside me, uttering ecstatic exclamations of delight because I had bought a cow so beautiful to behold and the dearest little calf that I must never mention in connection with veal again; now, in my black despair over this disagreement, I hated the innocent cause of it. If Marion had tried persuasion, I would have been willing to cast my theory to the winds, but I could not brook ridicule and I determined to bring up that calf by hand at whatever cost in time and trouble. I decided to begin at once by learning to milk the cow; after that, I would be in a better position to look up Marion and forgive her for the way I had behaved.

I didn't expect to become an expert milker at once, but I knew from observation how to milk, and I went to work with frantic energy. In a calmer frame of mind I might have waited to tie Ariadne's legs together, they looked so excessively agile;[Pg 119] however, she allowed me to exhaust every possible grip and password without protest, also,—alas!—without acknowledgment. When I retreated at last with the empty pail, my dismay was increased by the sideways leaps of joyful anticipation indulged in by the calf in the next stall. Something had to be done to fill up that creature, and I realized with a sense of utter desolation that I was left alone to do it. A word of advice, a protest, tears or angry reprisals, would alike have been sweet to my ears at that moment, but I knew Marion too well to hope that she would come to my help until I implored her forgiveness; even then,—oh, maddening inconsistency!—she would perhaps be plunged in gloom because I had not enough strength of character to stick to my convictions. No, there was but one course for me: I must prove the worth of my theory, if possible; if not, I would at least be in a position to capitulate with the honors of war.

I went into the house and looked up the directions for teaching a calf to drink. I[Pg 120] found that you merely seized it by the nostrils with the thumb and little finger, inserting the other three into its mouth as you drew its head gently into the pail of milk. This operation sounded rather objectionable, but I could not afford to be squeamish, and I prepared to smuggle our small supply of milk out of the pantry and add it up with water to make a sufficient bulk. As I passed through the kitchen I glanced furtively at Marion in the faint hope that she might be ready to hold out the olive branch, but when I saw that she did not deign to notice my existence a sudden violent resentment seized me. Instead of surreptitiously abstracting the milk, as I had intended, I poured it into the pail with defiant ostentation; still, I left the kitchen with a sinking heart, for when Marion neglected to ask me what I was going to do with that, I knew that she must indeed be in a serious mood.

I know I followed the directions to the letter up to the point when I drew the calf's head into the pail and inserted my fingers, though much perseverance was needed, for[Pg 121] it seemed to be able to travel backwards in all directions at once, faster than I could go forwards; but after that I am not quite sure what happened. I know there was a violent explosion and upheaval,—a blank followed, then I discovered that I was standing in the stable doorway frantically squeezing three of my fingers between my knees to deaden the pain, while the calf stood outside looking at me with an expression of incredulous wonder, its legs sticking out in four different directions like props. I wonder whether it was blown out or carried out; I don't think it walked. I don't think, either, that I lost my presence of mind; if I did, I found it again instantly. Instead of going into the house for liniment, I calmly turned the cow out of the stable also, then I looked on grimly, resigned to non-interference if the calf should happen to bite its parent or the cow kick her offspring.

Ariadne looked around apprehensively when she emerged from the stable; the calf ambled crookedly toward her; she edged away with forward pointed ears; it [Pg 122]followed hungrily. She trotted toward the open gate, the calf gamboling in pursuit; suddenly her tail straightened and she broke into a mad gallop,—so did the calf, so also did I. It was in this order we passed the kitchen door where Marion stood calling out to me in wild alarm to run, that the cow had broken loose.

Perhaps it was this cheery information that inspired me to overtake my movable property a mile further down the road, where our butcher, homeward bound, had got off his wagon to turn them back.

"You might be able to milk a cow that had milk," he said with a chuckle, after listening to my tale, "but it'd take Old Nick to raise a calf on a dry one."

"A dry one!" I shouted. "Do you mean"——

"Did the old man tell you it was this cow's calf?" he interrupted.

"Well, no,—I can't remember that he did. He said I'd better take the calf too, and I supposed——"

"Exactly—then he's salted you right enough! You've paid forty dollars for a[Pg 123] beef cow that he offered to give me for a twenty dollar account he owes me. I'm sorry—dashed sorry—that you've been took in, but—he, he! ha, ha, ha!—but you let on you knowed all about cattle, and I told you to keep your weather eye——"

"I can stand being swindled," I shouted, in wrath, "but I won't stand any told-you-so business. You ought to have more sense than to talk that way when—when——"

"There, there," he interjected soothingly—"I know jest how you feel. The other day my missis told me I'd smash my hand if I went hammerin' nails with an axe. Well sir, it wasn't three minutes till I did. Of course I swore a bit, but when I went into the kitchen and the missis asked me first how I done it, and then said she knowed I would, I jest went clean out of my head with rage. I'd sooner have gone out and smashed the other thumb than have been spoke to that way."

My heart warmed to the butcher; he is a man of fine feelings. He not only gave me twenty dollars for the cow, but promised to frighten John Waydean into silence[Pg 124] by representing that I was preparing evidence for a criminal prosecution.

"And now," I said, in conclusion, "I'd like your candid opinion about the calf. If I decided to raise it, would it be likely to grow into a valuable cow?"

"Well," he answered, gulping in a peculiar, hesitating way, as if he were reluctant to answer, "you mostly can't tell what kind of a cow a calf will make when it's a week old, but if you—if you wanted to raise a cow, you—you——"

His face became suffused with a dull purple flush, as if he were struggling with a mighty spasmodic sneeze; he turned his face away, his body shaking convulsively, then with obvious difficulty he continued: "If you wanted to raise a cow you'd ought to have bought a—a—ha, ha, ha!——"

"Have bought what?" I cried, in exasperation.

He stopped laughing and looked up and down the road, then leaned over the edge of the wagon-seat with his whip hand shielding one side of his mouth. I hung breathless on his words.

"A—cow—calf," he whispered.