The Western outlook. [volume] (San Francisco, Cal.) 1894-1928, 1915-05-15
with her and help capture a rev

and when he came to half understand
the business of the collectors, he was
filled with contempt.
THAT Teller orter be splittin' wood
and that woman orter be slicin' ap
pies to dry!" was the way he looked
at 1t, and when they came to ask
where the largest and choicest crick
cts could be found he pointed to a
bush in the pasture and replied:
You'll find some lively ones down
there"
The farmers wife came out to him
at the pillow and asked:
Josiah, what does that woman
want?"
why, she's one of EN-"
Does she want to buy them dun
ming letters, or the old letters You
wrote me afore we were married?"
mo. She's after bugs"
Good lands!"
Il couldn't make out exactly what
she wanted of them, but when they
asked about crickets / sent 'em over
In the pasture"
Are they goin' to fry the grease
out of 'em for rheumatism"
Dunno. / couldn't understand
half their big talk"
And as the two collectors walked
slowly across the field they warmed
toward each other, as was natural. OF
the millions Of people in the United
States they, it was very likely. were
the only ones working for those who
were to be cavorting around when
the Falls of Niagara were worn out
like an old washboard.
Two lawyers would have been In a
wrangle in FIVE minutes as to who
should have the crickets after they
had been captured.
Two editors would have dragged
politics into it and called each other
Vars.
Two poets would have wrangled
about the moonlight and dubbed each
other jinglers.
But two collectors! Their souls
recognized each other at once and
clasped hands, as it were.
Mr.. Blanchard and Miss Day were
SO long on their way to the cricket
roost that the farmer growled to him.
self:
IF l was after an insect I'd hurry
up and get him by hind leg and
then sit on the fence and do my talk
ing!"
But the collectors reached the spot
at last 1t was space of matted
grass, with brush growing In the midst
of it.
There were no crickets to be seen,
but it was the hour of the day when
such insects sleep and dream, and
get ready for the business Of the eve
ming.
It was right and proper that Mr..
Blanchard should get down on his
knees and paw around in the grass,
and he paved with energy and de-
termination. He found insects after
"a minute, but they were not crickets.
The farmer saw Mr.. Blanchard leap
to his feet in surprise. He heard
Miss Day utter a shrek and saw her
running away
Then he saw Mr.. Blanchard running
away and beating the air with his hat.
Then 1t was Miss Day who bounded
around and fought something with
her field net. Then the farmer said
to himself:
They've struck that humble bees
nest that I was saving for wire
fence man, and perhaps they'll need
help. Queer that these bug folks
can't tell a cricket from bee!"
There was need of his help. Both
collectors were tearing around in the
field both emphatic and woeful. Armed
with a broken bush, the rescuer
fought the bees to standstill, but
they had done their work. The wife
came from the house to lead Miss
Day to it, and the husband brought
up the rear of the procession with
Mr.. Blanchard.
1T will be three or four days be-
fore you can CO." said the doctor who
was called.
1t turned out to be five, but after
the second day time passed joyfully.
With their heads and hands ban
daged, and one eye opened enough to
see their way, the collectors sat on
the veranda and talked Of birds and
eggs and manuscripts and insects
and-love. Yes, they talked love to
leave record of how it was done In
lost America in the twentieth cen
fury. And when they departed for
their homes the farmer said to his
wife:
They orter make them humble
bees a present of 500 for stinging the
fads outen emf"