Middletown transcript., 1903-02-28
j sir, said old man Keat-
ing in conclusion;t n;there
are just two fellows

marry Win ny
consent: that's q preacher and I
schooltcacher. 7 know it's pretts
hard on you, Richard, but whea'
is my business not love. Yor
remember that smart young
andrews that held revival meet
ings III the schoolhouse dowr
by the Yamhili lastwinter? Vel
he wanted Helen the worst way,
though I've always thought he
wanted my twelve hundred acres
of wheat land worse. They
were in college together down
ct the Willamette, you know.
But he was q preacher, and that
let him out. You're a school
teacher, and as far as I can see
that lets you out-though upon
my word I'm sorry, Now, il
there was any excuse he
hesitated, trying in his rough
way to be kind; but there ain't,
he added, and Tightening the
reins over the back of his high
headed roadster, he put one foot
on the buggy step and looked
at the petitioner over his shoul-
der.
The young man turned away
with q bitter, half-defeated look
on his face, but at a second
thought recalled himself to say:
! want you to understand, Mr..
Heating, that I haven't asked
You for your farm, and don't
want it. I have asked for your
daughter, merely as an act of
courtesy. I'll marry her any
how at the finish, he added de-
Z
family, under. his breath.
Eh? Don't want the farm?
The old man was q little deaf,
but he caught every word that
pertained directly to wheat.
Well, I don't say you do. But
you know the man that gets
Helen gets the farm along with
her, and me and Sarah thrown
in, for that matter. Mind, now,
young man, it amt that ! don't
like you, personally. And I'll
admit that you're bright, and
chuck full of diplomys. But
you're one Of them pesky young
Fasteners that come into the
valley with q whoop and hur
rah and change things. The
country's always been good
enough for me just as tits. I'm
ready to let we'll enough alone.
] amt got any respect for your
diplomys, and I consider the
years you spent getting them
as SO much time wasted. They
don't have anything to do with
the price of Oregon wheat. I
want a man to marry Helen that
can go right on here raising
wheat. as I've been doing for
more than thirty years. You
couldn't do that. And the old
man climbed into the buggy.
I'm not so sure that / couldn't
raise wheatif 7 set my head to
it, Mr.. Keating, insisted the
young man, in a longing effort
to put off the inevitable. My
college work was intended as a
basis for business. r.
Well, you'll have to show me,
tartly declared the other, gather
ing up the laprobe.
I was about to add that I was
raised on an Iowa wheat farm,
replied the young man hotly.
I've done q few strokes at the
plow myself.
You'd ought to have stayed
with it, then, remarked old man
Keating shortly; that's all I
know And buttoning the dus-
ter about bis throat he drove out
81 the bzrnyard and down the
maplesl eslined roadway toward
.Sheridan.
But s he turned out of the
driver II INTO the Sheridan and
WiIlanina road he held his horse
down to q sober walk and re-
FL was Che wealthiest farmer
N fhe Willamette Valley within
s. r6dius Of twenty miles and
that was saying q good deal.
But be wasn't thinking OF that.
Everybody knew that. Neither
was he thinking in particular OF
the handsome young man who
had just had the temerity to ask !
for the succession to his acres,
though it must be admitted that
this had, IN q manner, directed
his thoughts, He was thinking
Of the girl bis little wayward
Helen who, after she had nm
ished the public schools, at the
1shcertain age Of fifteen, had
come 10 him, one day when he