Corn-Farm Boy (2 page)

CHAPTER I

The New Tractor

“Why, Dick! Why have you come home?”

The boy came into the kitchen and sat down. His mother took a pan of hot rolls from the oven. She looked up, her face flushed from the heat.

“I don't feel so good, Mom,” said Dick.

“Did the teacher say you could leave school in the middle of the morning?” asked his mother.

“It was recess,” said Dick. “Yes—she said I could go home.”

“And you walked?” asked Mom. “All the way?”

“Well—no,” said Dick. “Ted Sanders was going by in his pick-up. He gave me a ride.”

“But why? What's the matter, Dick?”

“I don't feel so good, Mom. My stomach hurts.”

Dick reached over to sample a hot roll.

“No—no fresh bread,” said Mom. “Not if your stomach is upset. Go upstairs and get to bed.”

“Aw, Mom—not in the middle of the morning,” begged Dick. “Is it eleven o'clock yet? Has your clock stopped?”

“Go on upstairs, Dick, and get undressed,” said Mom sternly. “I'll come up soon and take your temperature.”

Dick threw off his cap and jacket. He climbed the stairs slowly. He would get in bed with his clothes on. He would listen to hear them when they came. Then he would dash down and out the door before Mom could catch him.

The upstairs was only a half-story. It had three bedrooms with sloping ceilings. The one on the west was the boys' room, which Dick shared with his older brother, Raymond. On the wall colored pictures of birds were tacked up. Four small bird books and a natural history stood in an open bookcase, with several birds' nests. On the lower shelves were farm and sports magazines. The bed was still unmade, just as the boys had jumped out of it.

Dick untied his shoestrings. He kicked his shoes off with a great clatter. He ducked under the quilts and pulled them up. He reached for a magazine to read, but it was too dark, for there was only one low window. He pulled the long string he had rigged up. It went from the iron headboard to the light dangling from the ceiling. The light clicked on. He smiled to think how smart he was.

He lay back on the pillows. Gosh! He was really tired. He had walked most of the way, nearly two miles. Ted Sanders had only brought him from the corner. Dick just had to get home in time. When were they ever coming? He raised himself on his elbow and looked out the window, but saw no one. Raymond had said they would be back by ten-thirty. Raymond was lucky. He always got to do everything with Dad. He acted as if he were a man already, and he was only sixteen. Dick tried to read, but could not keep his mind on the words. He kept hearing outside noises.

He heard a bird singing—a robin. It was March and the robins were back. How good to think winter was over and spring had come. This year Dick was really going to farm. He could do everything that Raymond could do—as good or even better. If only Dad would let him … He knew just as much about a tractor as Raymond did. Dad did not know that whenever he spent a day in town, Raymond let Dick drive. Now, with this new tractor—with two tractors on the place, Dad would need somebody to drive it. He'd show Dad and Uncle Henry how well he could drive.

Steps up the stairway made Dick pull the covers up around his neck. The next minute Mom was in the room, and the thermometer was in his mouth. He could not talk. He could not tell from Mom's face whether she guessed or not.

“I hate to have you down sick today,” Mom said. “Just when I want to start spring housecleaning. I have new wallpaper for this room, and the woodwork needs a coat of paint.”

She took the thermometer out of the boy's mouth and looked at it.

“No worse than usual,” she said. “About half a degree. But I suppose it won't hurt you to stay in bed and rest. I'll make up the girls' bed while I'm upstairs. You'd better take one of your tablets—and I'll fix you some broth for dinner.”

“Mom, where's Margy?” asked Dick.

“I sent her out to the henhouse to get me some eggs,” said Mom. She went downstairs and Dick could hear her rattling pans and moving dishes. Dinner would soon be ready. Would they never come?

At last the welcome sound of engine motors came roaring through the open window. In a flash Dick was out of the bed and had his shoes on. Before his mother could call him, he was down the stairs and out the back door. He got there in time, after all.

They were coming up the lane—Dad and Uncle Henry in the pick-up and Raymond behind—on the new tractor. Oh, the lucky bum! He always got to do everything first. Dick flew across the house yard, the gate with its heavy iron weights clanging shut behind him. He was right there by the time they stopped. And in a few minutes, here came Mom and Margy too.

Oh, what a beauty she was! There was nothing more beautiful in the whole world than a brand-new tractor. So graceful, so neat, so streamlined, so powerful—as strong as twenty or thirty horses, think of it! New, shiny green paint without a nick or a mud-speck on it and huge wheels with the big lugs that could take the wonderful machine over hills and streams and mountains—anywhere!

Dick could not find words to express his admiration. He just listened while the others talked. Dad and Raymond and Uncle Henry sang the machine's praises in loud voices.

No one asked Dick why he was not at school. Mom did not scold him for getting out of bed. She did not even act surprised that he had his clothes on. They were all too excited.

“Mighty good of you to buy it, Henry,” said Dad. “It sure will help us out with the planting.”

“I just want to speed you slowpokes up a little,” laughed Uncle Henry.

Dick's father, Mark Hoffman, was a heavy-set man, twice as strong as Henry Shumaker. Uncle Henry's wife, Aunt Etta, was Dick's mother's sister. Uncle Henry Shumaker was thin and wiry. The Hoffman place was his old home-place, where he grew up as a boy. He lived in town now, because Aunt Etta and the girls liked it better there. He had inherited the farm from Grandfather Shumaker. Now he rented it to Mark Hoffman.

“Show us how she goes, Raymond,” said Uncle Henry.

“Gimme a ride! Gimme a ride!” begged Margy.

Margy was only five, but she loved a tractor as much as any one on the farm. She climbed up beside her big brother.

“Don't let her stand,” Mom called out. “We don't want an accident the first thing. Take her on your lap, Raymond.”

Raymond took the little girl on his lap and drove slowly around the barnyard. Then he got off and Dad tried it.

“Smooth as a whistle!” said Dad, grinning.

“Back to the kitchen for me,” cried Mom. “Your dinner's burning up.” She ran in, with Margy at her heels.

“Can I try it now, Dad?” asked Dick. “It's my turn, isn't it?”

Mark Hoffman looked down at Dick. His eyes twinkled.

“What makes you think you can drive it, son?”

“Oh well, I …” Dick looked at Raymond. “Oh well, I can drive the old one pretty good. Raymond lets me—sometimes.”

“Corn-farm kids know how to drive by instinct these days,” said Uncle Henry. “They don't need teaching. Let Dick try her.”

“Dick's not very strong,” began Dad. “He has to be careful.”

“Oh, I'm feeling fine now, Dad,” bragged Dick.

“
Yoo hoo! Yoo hoo!
” Margy stood by the house-yard gate and called, “Dinner! Everybody come to dinner.”

Dick turned to the house with the others, disappointed. He hated to leave the beautiful new machine. He wanted to stroke it, as if it were a horse. He had a feeling it might disappear if they all went away and left it.

“Can I? After dinner, Dad?” he begged.

“We'll take her out in the field after dinner,” said Uncle Henry, “and give her a real workout.” He turned to Mark. “Did the surveyor get your contour all laid out?”

“Yes,” said Dad, frowning. “He spent hours and hours at it. He marked all the curves and got us started. It looks crazy to me.”

“Got to keep up with the latest tricks,” laughed Uncle Henry, “if you want to make a corn farm pay. Contour planting is best on rolling land like this. Instead of rows up and down hill, you plant around the hill, and build grass terraces now and then, to keep the land from washing when it rains.”

The men stopped at the cistern pump by the walk. They washed in the basin on the bench back of the house and dried on the towel hanging there. Then they all trooped in. The kitchen was full of the good smells of freshly baked bread, fried steak and boiled cabbage. They sat down at the oilcloth-covered table and ate. Dick ate as much as any one. He had forgotten about feeling sick. And Mom must have forgotten too, for she had not fixed any broth. As soon as Dick finished, he ran upstairs and took off his school clothes. He put on his old shirt and dungarees, then his jacket and cap.

Dick and Raymond went out in the field with the men after dinner. They put the drag on the new tractor and started dragging. They were still there when Wilma got home from school. Wilma was fourteen and in first year High. She came home from town by bus. After changing into her jeans, she came running out. She got there just in time to see Dick driving. How proud he felt! He waved his hand to her. Dad had unhooked the drag.

Dick liked driving at first, then he was not so sure. He didn't much like the curves. And worse than that, his legs began to ache. He would not tell any one, of course. If he told Mom, she would be sure to put him to bed and keep him there. Dick had laughed at Dad when he said the curves made him dizzy. But now, he felt the same way himself. The engine began to cough a little, so he gave it a little more gas. He turned the wheel to avoid tipping. Did he turn it too far?

The next thing he knew he was going over. He heard the men yelling at him. A big bump and the engine stopped. He kicked, opened his eyes, and found himself lying sprawled out in the dirt. Dad and Uncle Henry were picking him up. Raymond was taking care of the tractor.

Wilma looked scared. “Did you hurt yourself?” she cried.

Dick got on his feet and felt of his legs and arms. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing.

“I'm O. K.!” he said. “Good thing the ground is soft.”

“If you'd a hit a rock with that head of yours,” joked Uncle Henry, “you might have broke the rock in two!”

Dad looked serious. “Are you all right, son?”

“Yes, Dad,” said Dick. “It didn't hurt me any.”

“I guess kids your age had better wait a while to drive,” said Dad.

“Aw—Dad …” but Dick knew there was no use coaxing now.

The arrival of Uncle Henry's new tractor made it an exciting day. But more excitement came in the evening, after Uncle Henry had driven back to town. Dick did not need to be told that they were in for a night of it. He hoped Dad would not tell Mom how he fell from the tractor. For if he did, Mom would never let him stay up all night. And he was determined to stay up this time. Nobody—nothing was going to stop him. His mind was made up.

It was pig time now. Today was the date to commence. Dad had the date circled with red crayon on his big farm calendar in the kitchen. For two or three weeks in March, they would have a busy time, for the sows would be having their pigs.

Susie, Dick's pet sow, was one of them. She was a Hampshire hog of enormous size, black with a white belt around her waist and a white neckband. Her big ears hung down over her eyes. They had bought her a month before and Dick had tamed her so he could walk in her pen at any time. When he held out an ear of corn, she came to eat. While she ate, he rubbed her ears and scratched her back. Now she knew him.

Other sows were ready to farrow too. Dick knew because he saw Raymond cleaning and liming the hog-house. He saw Dad hauling bales of straw and ground corncobs for bedding, and feed and water out. Dad had all the partitions and guard rails up and was fixing the straw in the pens already. Raymond had wired the hog-house for electricity during the winter. Now he tested the heat-lamps to see that they were working. Dick knew Dad and Raymond were planning to be up all night.

Wilma helped with the evening chores. Nobody called Dick to help, so he lay down on the sun-porch couch to rest. If he could tell Mom that he had had a rest, she would be more apt to let him stay up. Maybe not all night, but a while anyway. After Susie's pigs came and after Dick made sure she was all right and he knew how many little pigs she had, he would go to bed and let Dad take care of the others.

After the chores were done, Raymond got in the car and went over to see Russell Ruden, a neighbor boy. The argument did not start until bedtime. After Mom put Margy to bed, she called, “Time for bed, Dick.”

Dick looked at his father who was reading the paper by the table light. He wondered if Dad would help him out. Wilma was doing her homework. Would she say a good word for him?

Dick called up the stairway, “Aw—can't I stay up a while, Mom? I want to go to the hog-house with Dad. Just for a little while, Mom.”