The Lexington dispatch. [volume] (Lexington, South Carolina) 1870-1917, 1907-07-10

QuctOr:
"Haye you taken notice Of that bald
headed chap in there?'
"Not particularly. What's the mat
ter with him?"
"Cray as a bedbug. If he jumps on
to me all of a sudden and kicks my
ribs in, I shall hold the company re-
sponsible for all damages"
Mr.. Bowser didn't jump on anybody.
When he left the car, he took to the
highway and walked a mile. Then he
came to a farm he liked the looks Of
and turned in. The farmer "a grind
ing an ak at a stone under a cherry
tree, and his two strapping SON were
tearing down an old rail fence and
laying up a new one in it's place. Mr..
Bowser felt a farmerish instinct rise
within him as he looked around. The
robins and bluebirds were singing,
the young lambs were gamboling, and
nature was getting q summer hump on
her. He imagined Mrs. Bowser churn-
ing at the back door while he swung q
scythe in the meadow, the corn grow
ing and rustling, the yellow wheat
waving in the summer winds. and his
expression was growing childlike and
bland when the farmer left the grind
stone to ask:
SWELL, do you wish to buy chickens
or lambS?"
Liked Looks Of Farm.
81 am no chicken buyer" was the re-
ply in tart tones. Il rather liked the
looks of your farm and so turned in.
Perhaps it's for sale?"
The farmer and his sons took q good
long look at the man before them, and
then the farmer replied:
eyes, I might sell if I was offered my
price. Won't you sit down on the
bench"
MI. Bowser had never set out to buy
a farm before, but a sort Of natural
instinct told him that there were GER
tain questions he ought to ask. He
therefore sat down and, lighted a cigar
and assumed a knowing air and
queried:
"Whats the submarine soil Of this
farm? I see that the surface is q
sandy loam."
"Do you mean subsoil?" asked the
father, while the sons winked and
grinned.
"Of course"
"Its blue clay, the best subsoil In
the world"
whats your principal hay crop
clover or Holstein"
''Ycu must mean timothy"
Eyes, timothy"
"Why, we grow both, of course"
"And how many hundred bushels OF
wheat to the acre?" continued Mr..
Bowser as he scowled at the grinning
sons.
"How many hundreds? Lord, man,
but you can't mean hundreds! Land
that will grow thirty bushels Of wheat
to the acre is worth walking fifty miles
to see. Ny land grows about twenty.
and it's called mighty good land"
swell, about corn?' was asked as
Mr.. Bowser's face began to get very
red.
"I've gone as high as forty bushels
to the acre"
did it grow already shelled?"
Both sons laughed right out, while
the father looked at Mr.. Bowser and
scratched the back Of his head and
wondered what manner of man had
dropped down on him. He finally an
swered.
''The farm that grows shelled corn
and wheat that don't have to be
thrashed is FIVE miles farther along the
road"
But you make maple sugar all the
year round, don't you?" continued Mr..
Bowser in his desperation.
Refused to Sell to Him.
The father snorted, and the sons
went "Haw, haw, haw!" and slapped
their legs. Mr.. Bowser jumped up,
with fiery face, and was beginning to
say something about insults when the
farmer motioned him to silence and
said:
Stranger, you don't look like the
man who once sold me a gold brick
nor like the feller that stole my hogs.
I guess you are a respectable nan who
is a leetle off in the head from shovel
ing snow last winter. This farm is
not for sale to you. I have never made
a practice Of taking advantage Of child
hood or insanity. If you have got a
wife and will give me your name, I'll
60 in and telephone her where you are
and ask her to send out for you"
There was just one dreadful moment
when Mr.. Bowser thought he would
explode. Then he got hold Of himself
and turned away and walked down to
the gate and out Of it. and down the
road toward the car. He knew he was
a wrecked man and that he should
|. never smile again, but with Spartan
heroism he would not let the enemy
see the iron in his soul. They called
after him, and they haw, haw, hawed,
but he walked and walked and
turned his head. Rrahma COWS and
Leghorn turnips were no more to him.
NJ. QUAD.