Corn-Farm Boy (20 page)

In the lunchroom, they had to help themselves to food, fill their own trays and carry them to a table. Margy had a hard time deciding what to eat. She wanted a sample of everything—but her tray was not large enough.

“Do they make you wash your own dishes, too?” she asked.

Uncle Henry roared with laughter.

The food was good and the meat portions were generous and well prepared. Raymond studied the border of cattle brands decorating the walls. Dick did not talk and hardly ate.

“What's griping
him
?” Raymond leaned over and asked Wilma.

“Gee, does he feel sad!” said Wilma.

“Why?” asked Raymond.

“He's mourning for old Squeaky,” said Wilma.

“That mean old hog?” Raymond laughed.

Dick heard them. He looked at their plates. “How can you eat meat?” he asked.

“Why, it's delicious,” said Wilma. “My pork chop's so nice and tender.”

Dick shook his head in disgust. “She eats
pork
on a day like this!”

Uncle Henry was pleased with the hog sale. “They averaged two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Not bad! Not bad!” he bragged.

“How about it, Mark?” asked Mom. “Did you get a good price?”

“We came within fifteen cents of getting top price,” said Dad, smiling.

Uncle Henry teased Mom about getting lost in the hog barn. Mom was good-natured and laughed about it. Each time she repeated her adventures, they grew worse and worse. Then she talked about going to the stores.

After lunch Uncle Henry left and Dad drove uptown. He and the boys took in a western show at the movie house while Mom and the girls went shopping. After the show was over, the girls were still in the stores. Dad was impatient to start for home. At last they came and got in the car.

Dad drove into the truck route along the Missouri River to get out of town quickly. A procession of empty cars and trucks was leaving the stockyards. But Dad could not drive fast. There seemed to be some sort of obstruction ahead and he stopped. A large black and white bull had somehow escaped from a truck. Tail up in the air, the huge animal made a dash for freedom.

There the bull stood in the middle of the street, blocking traffic both ways. People on the sidewalks scurried indoors for safety. An impatient bus driver in a city bus loaded with people, blew his horn. But the bull refused to budge, except to lower his head threateningly when any one came near.

“Gosh! This is exciting!” cried Dick. “What will we do?”

“We'll sit right here,” said Dad.

“Now if I just had my lariat,” said Raymond, “I'd lasso that bull and show him who's master.” The others laughed.

“If that bull charged into the crowd or into that bus,” said Dad, “it wouldn't be very funny.”

The news had spread quickly back to the stockyard. Two men came dashing up on horseback.

“Now, watch him!” said Raymond. “Even a vicious bull has real respect for a man on a horse.”

The men had lariats and soon the stubborn bull was roped, tied to a truck and on its way back to the yards. The bus driver sounded his horn, cars began to move and street activities were resumed as before.

Soon the city was left behind and the Hoffmans were on their way home again. Wilma had spent her money and now her school wardrobe was complete. She talked about her new coat all the way home.

“She thinks it's extra special,” said Raymond, “because it came from the city instead of a small store in a small town. There's no difference that I can see. They all come from the same coat factory.”

“Except in price,” laughed Dad. “She just paid a little more.”

Margy did not talk about her new dress at all. Tired out, she leaned against her mother in the back seat and slept. Once she woke up and said, “I didn't feel good all day.”

“That's because you ate too much,” said Dick.

“No,” said Margy. “The smell of the city made me sick.”

Mom and Dad laughed.

“Home is the best place,” said Dick. “I can't wait to get back to little—” He was about to say
Popcorn
, but stopped just in time. Little Popcorn would not be sitting there on the back steps to welcome him any more. “I want to get back to see Buster again,” he added.

As Dad drove in the lane, Margy sat up and said, “I feel good again, now that I'm home.”

Chores done, supper over, a tired family was ready for bed.

CHAPTER XI

Before Snow Flies

“It'll be a big crop,” said Uncle Henry one Sunday in October.

The whole family had walked out to look over the big eighty. The cornstalks and leaves had begun to turn brown. Soon it would be time to get out the corn picker and harvest the crop. Uncle Henry rubbed his hands together and grinned.

“That's mighty fine corn!” he boasted. “It didn't wash down into the creek either. Now, what you got to say about contouring, Mark Hoffman?”

“I admit it did the trick,” said Dad. “Charlie Ruden lost half of that west field of his. He ran his rows straight up and down the slope. That heavy June rain washed deep gullies between the rows. His corn there won't be worth picking.”

“Now
our
corn,” Uncle Henry waved his arm, “means money in our pockets!”

“Money in
your
pocket, maybe,” said Dad, frowning. “Time I've paid my loan back to the bank for those cattle I bought, paid all my summer bills, bought winter clothes for the family, fuel for the winter, and counted up the costs of putting in next year's crop—hybrid corn seed, fertilizer, repairs and upkeep on machinery—there won't be a penny left in
my
pocket.”

Mom chimed in. “We'll manage to get by, and that's all,” she said. “It's an endless circle—work hard all the year and make just enough to give you the necessities and a few comforts, plus enough to put in the crop for
next
year.”

“But Bertha,” said Uncle Henry, “you can't ask for a better crop than that.”

Mom turned to go back to the house. “Don't count your chickens before they're hatched, Henry Shumaker,” she said. “It's still out in the field. It's not
picked
yet.”

“You'll pick this week, won't you, Mark?” asked Uncle Henry.

“I'm waiting for a hard enough frost,” said Dad.

“Don't wait too long,” said Uncle Henry. “If snow comes and moistens it, you might not be able to pick before spring. I need my money this fall.”

“O. K.,” said Dad. “We'll get it in by Thanksgiving—before snow flies.”

Corn picking began the next week. Dad decided the fields were just moist enough and the corn was just dry enough. In the morning before he left for school, Dick watched his father grease the corn picker. He helped him take out the old piece of barbed wire and put in a new piece on one of the rollers that would pick up the corn. He watched Dad and Raymond start out to the field with it. Raymond had to stay out of school to help.

The corn picker was a fascinating machine, bigger and more fearsome than a tractor, and more dangerous too. Like a huge dragon it moved across the field and gathered up the rows of corn. At the rear a stream of ears poured out into a wagon, while the shredded stalks fell out on the ground behind. What must it be like to drive one of them? Dick tried to see himself sitting up in Dad's seat, proudly making the huge thing go. Somehow he could not get the fascination of the machine out of his mind.

But when he begged to stay home from school, Mom would not let him. The days were beginning to be raw and cold now. She feared a return of his rheumatism, and felt he was better off indoors where there was heat. Dad was short of help with only Raymond. Charlie Ruden came to help one day, then refused to come again. He hated the curving rows and refused to follow them. His boy, Russell, took his place.

On Friday, Elmer Ruden came over after school.

“Did you come to help pick corn?” asked Dick.

“No, I leave that work to the men,” said Elmer. “Dad sent me to get Russell. Said he needs him at home.”

“He's out in the field now,” said Dick. “You can tell him when he comes in. Look what I made.”

Dick pulled a corncob pipe out of his pocket. The bowl was a corncob cleaned out to the core. A hole had been drilled in the side, and a dried hollow cornstalk inserted.

“A pipe,” said Elmer. “Have you ever smoked it?”

“No,” said Dick, “but I've been planning to. I'll go get some matches.”

He went into the house and got five or six matches out of the kitchen cupboard. Mom was busy ironing, so she did not notice. When Dick came back, Elmer said, “Where will we go?”

“Come with me,” said Dick.

The boys crawled over the fence and followed it until they came to the cornfield. They went out there about four rows and sat down. The corn had not been cut yet. The men were working in the west forty.

Dick tried the pipe first. He packed the bowl with dried corn tassel. He lighted it and smoked for a while. He sucked in and blew out. Then he passed the pipe to Elmer. Elmer put dried corn silk in and smoked. The boys grinned at each other. It was very daring to smoke.

“Nobody can see us here,” said Elmer.

“This sure is fun,” said Dick, but he did not look enthusiastic. He puffed a while, then choked and coughed. Taking the pipe out of his mouth, he said, “It's got a heck of a taste.”

Elmer tried the pipe again.

“I think it's fun to smoke,” bragged Elmer. But he, too, began to choke and gag. “Here, take it,” he said.

“Say, I forgot, I've got to go and water the hogs,” said Dick.

They started back to the hog-house. Dick emptied the corncob pipe and put it back in his pocket.

“Nobody will know a thing,” said Elmer.

“Nobody saw us,” said Dick.

They both seemed to feel a little guilty. They did not speak of wanting to smoke again. Once was enough. They had cured themselves of the habit before it began. Up by the hog-house, Dad happened to pass by. He had just brought a load of corn in. He gave the boys a searching look. And did he sniff a little?

Dick whispered to Elmer, “The way Dad looked at us makes me think he knows we smoked. How could he have found out?”

“Search me,” said Elmer. “Will he tell your mother?”

“I don't think so,” said Dick.

When they saw Dad again, Elmer told him that Russell had to go home.

“I'll send him home after the next load,” said Mark Hoffman.

“Can I drive after Russell goes, Dad?” asked Dick.

Dick remembered he had said he would never drive Uncle Henry's tractor again. But he had stayed off it for so long, now he began to be eager again. It would be fun to haul in a few loads of corn. He was tired of doing nothing.

But Dad shook his head. After the corn was elevated into the crib, Dad drove off with the empty wagon to the field.

On Saturday Uncle Henry came out. He met Dick in the barnyard. “How's corn picking doing?” he asked.

“Fine,” said Dick. “Just look.” He led Uncle Henry to the corncrib. The golden ears were piled high to the very top. “The west forty has nearly filled it.”

Uncle Henry rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “Good! Wonderful! That sure is fine looking corn.”

“We've got so much corn we don't know where to put it,” said Dick.

“We'll have to make some ring cribs,” said Uncle Henry. “Maybe three or four. Ring cribs made out of snow fence always indicate a good crop.”

“That's what Dad said,” Dick replied. “They're about done in the west forty now, but Dad's short of help. He hopes he can get it all in before snow flies.”

“He's short of help—what do you mean?” asked Uncle Henry.

“Charlie Ruden came only one day,” said Dick. “Then Russell came, but his Dad sent for him and he never came back.”

“I thought the farmers out here like to trade work,” said Uncle Henry. “Your Dad has helped the Rudens out time and again.”

“Mr. Ruden didn't like the curves,” said Dick. “He got mad and went home. Said nobody could drive a corn picker going in circles.”

“Why don't your Dad get some other neighbor, then?” asked Uncle Henry.

“They're all busy getting their own corn in,” said Dick. “Bill Heiter will come and help when he's done at home and helped out at a couple of other places.”

“We'll get snow before then,” said Uncle Henry.

They both looked up at the sky. Already it had a dark and threatening look, as if rain or snow were on the way. When Uncle Henry heard that only Raymond was helping, he became very angry.

“That's no way to pick corn,” he said. “That's too SLOW. That's as slow as when they used horses and picked by hand.”

When Dad came in the next time, Uncle Henry asked, “Why don't you drive the picker and let these boys haul the corn in? How about Dick here? Why isn't he helping?”