154 FARMING IT 



Street, perched on the rack, and smoking a long 

 meerschaum. Inside the rack was a light russet- 

 colored animal, evidently made of barrel-staves. 

 Had the animal not been inside the rack, it would 

 have been difficult if not impossible to distinguish 

 the cow from the rack. 



He drove into the yard, and without speaking 

 unloaded the animal, received his pay, and 

 started to leave. Just before he got out of the 

 yard, he stopped and said, "Mist' Shute, dat 

 cow he die pret' soon. He pretty old cow." 



I dragged her into a stall, fed her with corn- 

 stalks, hay, carrots, middlings, gluten, cotton- 

 seed meal, shorts, sweet apples, and potato par- 

 ings, until she was distended like a balloon, and 

 waited expectantly for milking time. 



Hours dragged slowly, but still the cow ate on. 

 I made a hurried calculation on the back of a 

 shingle, and found I had given her eighty-three 

 cents' worth of food, and the supply in front of 

 her was fast running short. But five o'clock 

 came before she bellowed for a new supply, and 

 I grasped my bright new pail, turned up a bucket 

 for a milking-stool, took off my outer garments, 

 my collar, cuffs, and necktie, hung them on vari- 

 ous projections of her anatomy, sat down and 

 began to milk. The first squeeze I made sent a 

 hissing snowy stream into one shoe. The next 

 connected with the palm of my hand and fizzled 



