Beautiful Joe [68]
a city. I would sell out my share of the
farm, and have a few thousand dollars. You know I am not an intellectual giant.
I would never distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer or
doctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watch a tree
or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paid for it. No,
thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He says scarcely one person
in ten thousand betters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and
settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough, for
one can always get away from it; but I am beginning to think that it is a
dangerous thing, in more ways than one, to be a millionaire. I believe the
safety of the country lies in the hands of the farmers; for they are seldom very
poor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes the wealthy and
the paupers."
"But most farmers lead such a dog's life," said Mr. Maxwell.
"So they do; farming isn't made one-half as attractive as it should be," said
Mr. Harry.
Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Just sketch an outline of that, will
you, Gray?"
"In the first place," said Mr. Harry, "I would like to tear out of the heart of
the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as it is in the heart of
his city brother the thing that is doing more to harm our nation than anything
else under the sun."
"What is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell, curiously.
"The thirst for gold. The farmer wants to get rich, and he works so hard to do
it that he wears himself out soul and body, and the young people around him get
so disgusted with that way of getting rich, that they go off to the cities to
find out some other way, or at least to enjoy themselves, for I don't think many
young people are animated by a desire to heap up money."
Mr. Maxwell looked amused. "There is certainly a great exodus from country
places cityward," he said. "What would be your plan for checking it?"
"I would make the farm so pleasant, that you couldn't hire the boys and girls to
leave it. I would have them work, and work hard, too, but when their work was
over, I would let them have some fun. That is what they go to the city for. They
want amusement and society, and to get into some kind of a crowd when their work
is done. The young men and young women want to get together, as is only natural.
Now that could be done in the country. If farmers would be contented with
smaller profits and smaller farms, their houses could be nearer together. Their
children would have opportunities of social intercourse, there could be
societies and clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature. A
farmer ought to take five or six papers and two or three magazines. He would
find it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made,
compelling him to go to the post office once a day."
Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing. "And another to make him mend his roads as well
as mend his ways. I tell you Gray, the bad roads would put an end to all these
fine schemes of yours. Imagine farmers calling on each other on a dark evening
after a spring freshet. I can see them mired and bogged, and the house a mile
ahead of them."
"That is true," said Mr. Harry, "the road question is a serious one. Do you know
how father and I settle it?"
"No," said Mr. Maxwell.
"We got so tired of the whole business, and the farmers around here spent so
much time in discussing the art of roadmaking, as to whether it should be viewed
from the engineering point of view, or the farmers' practical point of view, and
whether we would require this number of stump extractors or that number, and how
many shovels and crushers and ditchers would be necessary to keep our roads in
order, and so on, that we simply withdrew. We keep our own roads in order. Once
a year, father gets a gang of men and tackles every section of the road that
borders upon our land, and our roads are the best around here.
farm, and have a few thousand dollars. You know I am not an intellectual giant.
I would never distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer or
doctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watch a tree
or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paid for it. No,
thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He says scarcely one person
in ten thousand betters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and
settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough, for
one can always get away from it; but I am beginning to think that it is a
dangerous thing, in more ways than one, to be a millionaire. I believe the
safety of the country lies in the hands of the farmers; for they are seldom very
poor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes the wealthy and
the paupers."
"But most farmers lead such a dog's life," said Mr. Maxwell.
"So they do; farming isn't made one-half as attractive as it should be," said
Mr. Harry.
Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Just sketch an outline of that, will
you, Gray?"
"In the first place," said Mr. Harry, "I would like to tear out of the heart of
the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as it is in the heart of
his city brother the thing that is doing more to harm our nation than anything
else under the sun."
"What is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell, curiously.
"The thirst for gold. The farmer wants to get rich, and he works so hard to do
it that he wears himself out soul and body, and the young people around him get
so disgusted with that way of getting rich, that they go off to the cities to
find out some other way, or at least to enjoy themselves, for I don't think many
young people are animated by a desire to heap up money."
Mr. Maxwell looked amused. "There is certainly a great exodus from country
places cityward," he said. "What would be your plan for checking it?"
"I would make the farm so pleasant, that you couldn't hire the boys and girls to
leave it. I would have them work, and work hard, too, but when their work was
over, I would let them have some fun. That is what they go to the city for. They
want amusement and society, and to get into some kind of a crowd when their work
is done. The young men and young women want to get together, as is only natural.
Now that could be done in the country. If farmers would be contented with
smaller profits and smaller farms, their houses could be nearer together. Their
children would have opportunities of social intercourse, there could be
societies and clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature. A
farmer ought to take five or six papers and two or three magazines. He would
find it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made,
compelling him to go to the post office once a day."
Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing. "And another to make him mend his roads as well
as mend his ways. I tell you Gray, the bad roads would put an end to all these
fine schemes of yours. Imagine farmers calling on each other on a dark evening
after a spring freshet. I can see them mired and bogged, and the house a mile
ahead of them."
"That is true," said Mr. Harry, "the road question is a serious one. Do you know
how father and I settle it?"
"No," said Mr. Maxwell.
"We got so tired of the whole business, and the farmers around here spent so
much time in discussing the art of roadmaking, as to whether it should be viewed
from the engineering point of view, or the farmers' practical point of view, and
whether we would require this number of stump extractors or that number, and how
many shovels and crushers and ditchers would be necessary to keep our roads in
order, and so on, that we simply withdrew. We keep our own roads in order. Once
a year, father gets a gang of men and tackles every section of the road that
borders upon our land, and our roads are the best around here.