402 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



July, 1918 



HONEY, TRUNKS, and TROUBLE 



cA Traveling Experience That 



Many a Beekeeper Has Been Thru. 



T^oor 3Ar. Tomlinson ! 



By Mary G. Phillips 



" You put the can 

 then, of course, in the 

 laottom of your trunk" — 



DID you ever 

 travel with 

 h a © y ? 

 With Honey, yes, 

 of course, on 

 your wedding 

 trip; but I mean 

 with the beauti- 

 f u 1 , amber, 

 sticky, gaumy, 



viscid liquid that you put carefully into a 

 can with the screw-top on so tight that, by 

 George, it can't come open! You put the 

 can then, of course, into the bottom of your 

 trunk, pack beside it Shakespeare 's Sonnets 

 and the two books on 

 beekeeping that you 

 have had by you all 

 summer, and fill in 

 the rest of the bot- 

 tom layer with shoes 

 and underwear. 

 Above that comes 

 the overcoat which 

 you have not worn, 

 but which your wife 

 insisted upon your 

 having with you, 

 your best suit, white 

 shirts which have not 

 been out of the drawer since you came, some 

 odds and ends of socks and underwear which 

 you forgot to put in the bottom, and there 's 

 the next layer! Then you look around the 

 room and throw in everything in sight — 

 that's the top layer — the clothes you had on 

 last in the apiary, collars, a few socks which 

 appear in unexpected places, a bundle of 

 your wife's letters, mostly unanswered, a 

 nightshirt fished out from under the bureau, 

 a bunch of neckties, a few soiled shirts, 

 more books, a smoker that you forgot to 

 pack with the bee things, and last of all, two 

 bee veils. There you are, all packed except 

 for closing the trunk! Of course, that's a 

 very different matter, which requires the 

 combined efforts of the landlady's husband, 

 little boy, and you, for the trunk is a small 

 one, and somehow things take up more 

 space than they did when your wife packed 

 them; but at last, when all three of you sit 

 down hard, altogether now! the lock snaps 

 and you are ready to go. After all, it is a 

 simple matter to take a can of honey east 

 to your sister, and think of her pleasure 

 when she sees the clear liquid flow into her 

 syrup jug, and her admiration and surprise 

 when you assure her that you have been 

 producing that fine honey by the ton! 



Now all of this is what Mr. Bud Tomlin- 

 son did last summer when he had shipped 

 his last load of honey to market and had put 

 hir bees in shape for winter, and there was 

 no liUppier, more contented man than he in 

 the world as he stepped on the train for 

 Chicago. Little did he know what Fate had 

 in store for him, lurking just around the 

 corner, aivi with her usual irony about to 

 use for his undoing the very source of his 

 content — his honey! We have all been 



there — there 

 never has been 

 a beekeeper who 

 has not oncC — 

 just once — pack- 

 ed honey in a 

 trunk and then 

 ■ — but wait! let 

 me tell you of 

 the unsuspecting 

 Bud Tomlinson, who stepped off the train in . 

 Chicago that day as calm as a summer sea. 

 His trunk, having come up to the city by the 

 local on which he rode, was carried by the 

 transfer company to the baggage station and 

 dumped on their platform, where Mr. Bud 

 Tomlinson expected to find it, to check east, 

 when he arrived some time later. 



Mr. Bud Tomlinson had taken his time 

 about checking his trunk; he had had lunch,, 

 had seen a wholesale honey dealer, and most 

 important of all, had bought a large Teddy- 

 bear for his sister 's baby, and some pale 

 blue silk for an evening dress which he 

 knew his wife had been wishing for. He 

 hoped that he might squeeze these things 

 into the trunk, opening it at the baggage 

 station. There was no hurry — his train did 

 not leave until evening, and the afternoon 

 was still young. He walked about among 

 the trunks on the platform, but failed to 

 find his own. Where could it be? He knew 

 it had come up on the local — it mui't be 

 here. A solicitous baggage master offered 

 help, but the trunk containing the precious 

 honey was apparently missing. At length 

 Bud's gaze suddenly fell upon a lonely piece 

 of baggage standing on end in the middle of 

 the alley. 



"What's that?" he said. "That looks 

 like mine, out there in the street! " 



"That?" inquired the baggage man inno- 

 cently, "Oh, that! We can't accept that! 

 That darned transfer man brought it here 

 and thought he'd put one over on me! Want- 

 ed me to accept a trunk all messed up with 

 something sticky from 

 top to bottom! I told 

 him where to go with 

 that trunk, and shov- 

 ed it back on his 

 truck — then he got 

 fresh and said he 

 wouldn 't have it — he 

 was so full of the 

 stuff that his hands 

 stuck to the steering 

 wheel and he almost 

 with something sticky ran a ladv down, and 

 from top to bottom." •£ j ^o^iifjn 't let him 



put it on my platform, he 'd dump it in 

 the alley! Well, after that you bet I would- 

 n 't have it so he dumped it out there, and 

 there it sets. It can set there till Doomsday 

 for all o ' me — I won 't touch it, I know that 

 — it's covered with something messy that 

 sticks all over you. It don 't smell so bad, 

 tho. Don 't know what it is, but it might be 

 dangerous. ' ' 



Poor Bud Tomlinson 's heart sank as he 



" Wanted me to accept 

 trunk all messed up 



