The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1920-06-11
Stumps of Good Timber
q A COMPLETE NOVELETTE, By Raymond S. Spears
By Raymond S. Spears

The observers saw his mad face
twitching and his tongue wrapping
itself around, trying to put forth the
answer that Glove in his throat. He
could not answer. Out of the days
before he was insane had fingered the
old reticence-he could not betray this
secret of his industry, much as he
wanted to, so strong had been the
habit of silence that he had lost the
power of clear expression.
The Legeres, in their friendliness
tried to stop Old Drew from spending
all his money which he began now to
recover from it's hiding places. He re-
fused to take their advice. Instead,
he begged them to take money in re-
turn for the hundreds of unrotted
black walnut stumps up onto the
Range lots. Out of the pity in
their hearts, they took the 10-cent,
5O-cent and dollar silver pieces, even
pieces of gold, but saved his money
for him for the day when he should
need it again.
They watched Old Drew and his
young helpers grubbing out the old
stumps and dragging them down to
his cabin, which was beside the new
Contract road, over which the automo-
bile stage now carried tine mail and
which the Legeres drove their own
little gasoline machine.
Old Drew Nuckle's industry and
perseverance never tagged. He put
himself in possession of all the old
black walnut stumps and chunks on
that side of the mountains for miles
and miles around. Old fields were
grubbed out, new cut-overs cleaned,
even old fences replaced by new, and
the abandoned ruins of log cabins
were taxed, seeking the waste for
which Old Drew would pay real
money.
At the last, adults were bringing in
old timber on their wagons or even
strapped across the saddles of their
horses, glad to have the pennies which
the mailman would give them.
How long Old Drew would have
gone on collecting those chunks no
one could tell Somewhere, somehow,
he had caught one fleeting fact in the
welter of ideas and opportunities that
grew up with the outbreak of the big
war. Somehow, his mad mind had
seized upon the fact Of one real need
in the world crisis. He had set about
trying to supply that need. He had
gathered thousands upon thousands
of chunks, every one Of black walnut,
some whole stumps, wind polished
roots and knots.
He had them, but his poor enfeebled
mind did not tell him what to do with
them. He was like the young, I'M
trained robin with the instinct to build
a nest, gathering bushels and bushels
of twigs and mud and grass and other
material, spreading it along all the
beam of barn, but not understanding
building.
So Sal-Bet Leigere wondered about
his idea. She grappled with the fact
that the old fellow must have some
incentive, somewhere, to start him
gathering those chunks. Little by lit
tie, she applied the shrewdness in
herited from her father, Old Grumpy,
first at one point, then at another.
Black walnut, in long timber was
valuable, of course. Her own fortune
was based on the sales of walnut tree
logs. But here was vast mass of
mere little chunks. Old Drew had paid
as high as five cents a dozen for wal
nut pieces, no larger than her wrist
and hand. He had received an I'M
pulse somewhere, he had seen an Cd
portunity-seized it, worked it out, and
now he had forgotten what it was. He
could not remember what he had had
in mind.
He's like a miser who sets out to
get money enough to buy farm, and
then forgets what he wants the gold
for, and he keeps on saving, and saw
ing, never knowing when he has had
enough, or when to stop!" she
thought.
One day she heard rumor. Some
of the wild young men were going to
have some fun with Old Drew. They
were going down to the old mans
place and build fire in one end of
the great snag pile, and set back and
enjoy seeing the old man romp and
rage around. Sal-Bet knew that the
young scoundrels would do what they