Report of Missouri Farmers' Week. 135 



THE MISSOURI COTTON CROP. 



(Address of Hon. C. M. Barnes, Member State Board of Agriculture, Marston, Mo.) 



As I was going down the street today I noticed 

 two young men coming out of one of the fraternity 

 houses. They were evidently students starting to 

 their classes. I do not know whether they were 

 "hayseeds" or not; there was a time when you 

 could tell the difference, usually by the clothes 

 they wore, but that method of distinguishing stu- 

 dents has disappeared. These young men. had, no 

 c. M. Barnes. doubt, reached the voting age. One at least had, 

 judging from the remarks he was making to his companion. "I'm 

 of age now," he said, "and I feel that I can make my way through 

 the world." Just then his feet slipped on the icy sidewalk and he 

 came down, in the shape of a big "V." I ventured to remark that 

 I thought he couldn't make his way through in that direction 

 unless he came down harder, and then if he did he would probably 

 come out in China, where he would be among strangers and 

 wouldn't know what to do. He invited me to a place where, it is 

 said, ice does not form on the sidewalk, but being rather particular 

 about where I visit, his invitation was respectfully declined. I pre- 

 ferred to be here tonight, where I might spend a few momen,ts 

 talking to a Missouri audience on a subject of more than ordinary 

 interest, at least to me. 



The subject of "Cotton Growing in Missouri" is one that is 

 calculated to excite more curiosity than personal interest in this 

 part of our State, but I greet you from that section of Missouri 

 where the greatest of world staples is a primary crop, where the 

 failure of cotton for two consecutive years would mean ruin for 

 thousands of Missouri farmers and bankruptcy for hundreds of mer- 

 chants and business men. That makes my subject tonight dear to 

 me, one that I can "wear nearest my heart" — a subject that I can 

 feel, usually, from the soles of my feet to my collar at least; and 

 I am sure most of the men in the audience have a kindred feeling 

 — they all wear cotton, socks. 



Cotton is generally considered a strictly southern crop. The 

 very mention of it raises in your minds visions of the southern 

 plantation with its expanding acres, dotted here and there with 

 cabins for the "niggers." The cotton field, the negro, the mule, 

 a bunch of "pickaninnies" with "mammy" hoeing or picking cot- 



