122 TWENTY-THIRD ANNUAL YEAR BOOK— PART III. 



Need any lime or your land, Bill? I got a pretty good hunch I do. The 

 college at Ames had a map up in their exhibit showing what soils needed 

 lime and how much, and it looks as if us farmers had better charter a 

 few quarries and a railroad or two and get a little on our farms. 



The farm economics exhibit wasn't very cheerful. It said quite a bit 

 about how much some Marshall county farmers didn't make last year,, 

 and Marshall county ain't so far away from you and me as it might be, 

 you know that, Bill. It did give helpful ideas, though. I guess as how 

 I'll mention to our shipping association secretary that he'd better take 

 a look at the record keeping system the college is getting out. 



Lots of machinery at the fair this year, Bill. In about two more years 

 I figure on coming here and buying some do-funny that'll let me press a 

 button about April 1 and then go to California for the summer and lei 

 the machinery do the work. The only trouble then will be that I'll have 

 to start playing golf or something or I'll get too fat. Because I don't 

 intend to stop eating. 



Had some trouble with young Peter. He had the notion that he had 

 to see every show and eat something at every stand on the grounds. I 

 went around with him to see that he didn't get hisself hurt or nothing, 

 and I can't see quite how that kid managed to hold all he did. If he'd 

 been a colt, he'd have died squealing and kicking about the second day. 

 Being my youngest boy, he just insisted on going around on the roller 

 coaster again and again and having a wad of candy to chew while he was 

 doin' it. It's lucky kids are tough, or we certainly wouldn't raise many. 



We have a big crowd at the fair this year, sixty thousand more than 

 last. A more cheerful crowd, too. Guess we've all got used to low 

 prices and it don't hurt like it used to. And from the way folks bought 

 seats in the grand stand, I guess there must be a few of us who have a 

 spare half dollar or two tucked away somewhere. 



You said you was too poor and too busy to come to the fair this year, 

 didn't you, Bill? Bill, listen to me. You ain't that poor and you ain't 

 that busy. 



A state fair is one thing a farmer can't afford to miss. He grubs around 

 in the barnyard a good part of the year, and he gets to figuring that he 

 don't amount to much and farming don't amount to much, and what's 

 the use anyway. And then he comes to the fair, and he sees the finest 

 exhibition of live stock and crops in the country, and some of it is his, 

 and he begins to perk up. He walks through machinery hall, and a lot of 

 dressed up young fellows kowtow to him and asks him what does he 

 think of this machine, Mr. Smith? Honest, Bill, one fellow tried to sell 

 me a $5,000 automobile. 



The state fair makes you feel better inside. It makes you feel that 

 you belong to a real profession, that you're working on a real job, the 

 most important in the world, and that the men with you are the kind 

 you want to work with. You'll like the stock and the amusements, too, 

 Bill, but that feeling alone is worth quite a bit of railroad fare and hotels 

 and war tax on top of it. 



Try it next year, Bill. It's worth the effort. Your wife will like it, 

 and although my woman is feeling sorta fagged out now over the trip, 

 I know mighty well that my rations would be cut pretty short if I told 



