During his visit to the farm he espied the newly set out celery plants. 



"Your farm's all right, Mr. Fullerton, but what did you plant that for?" 



"Celery? Why not?" said the Senior Partner. 



"Why not? Because you can't raise it here and there's no use trying," he replied. 



"Do you raise celery?" asked the Book Farmer. 



"Um!" as our guest nodded his head. 



"Exhibit at the Riverhead Fair?" 



"Um!" again as he acquiesced. 



"Well, so do we, and if you win a prize this year you'll know it, for you'll have to work overtime." 



A smile broke over his face and he clapped the "gude mon" on the shoulder, saying: 



"Fullerton, you think the Island will grow anything under the sun, don't you?" But his expression 

 said, "He's an enthusiastic youngster (the said 'gude mon' being some years his senior) but he'll get 

 over it." 



We exhibited celery at the fair and won second prize. Therefore the flowers. 



One afternoon I was standing in the bedroom door tired from the day's exertions (the Senior Partner 

 was away that day holding another exhibit at an agricultural gathering). The house was crowded 

 with visitors, among them some Irishmen. 



One large, portly man said: "Och, come on out, they know what to put in their fields." 



"What did we put on the fields?" I flared up, supposing, of course, that he referred to a high- 

 priced fertilizer. 



"Shure an' didn't they have you in the fields! Sure, I'd worruk meself if you was out there!" 



I blush to tell the story, but it is too good to keep, that was the time my zeal for the farm got me 

 into hot water. 



In our beloved home town, the Horticultural and Agricultural Association held an exhibition and 

 they particularly requested a showing from the farm, sending us entry blanks for competition. We were 

 glad to help and filled out the blanks with 20 entries. As this took place during the Riverhead Fair 

 week, the Senior Partner left me late one evening, drove the 12 miles to the farm, gathered and packed 

 crops all night and took them in to the exhibition the next morning. 



The farm's showing was as pretty as could be, its greatest attraction in one sense being a basket 

 of dainty miniature vegetables from the children's garden. Their plantings had been made very late 

 and in the shade which tended to dwarf them, but under the circumstances seemed very apropos; as at 

 other exhibitions people wondered whether the corn was not spliced, while the high quality coupled with 

 the extensive variety attracted much attention. 



When the Farmer returned to Riverhead I eagerly asked the news, meaning, of course, what prizes 

 had we won. 



"Nothing doing," he said, "they seemed to think it was honor enough to be allowed to exhibit 

 50 varieties and would not allow our stuff in competition. I guess the next time I 'help out' I'll think 

 twice before I work all night doing it." 



"That hurts," I replied. "If it were outsiders we could speak our mind, but that touches the 

 quick." 



At the Mineola Fair where the exhibit looked even prettier than at Riverhead, the Senior Partner 

 had an odd experience. 



A gentleman came in and said, "How are you Mr. Fullerton; I've been looking for you and asked 



a man if he could tell me where to find your exhibit. 'There's the whole d humbug over there,' 



he said, so here I am." 



"Where's the man," said the Railroad Farmer, "and what's the matter with him?" 



"He's outside now looking at that corn to see where it's spliced. He says you didn't raise the 

 things and if you did you had five tons of commercial fertilizer to the acre," replied the visitor. 



The Senior Partner stumped out under full head of steam and the following wafted in the window: 



"Howdy, neighbor! Hear you don't believe we raised this stuff without commercial fertilizer. 

 I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you $1,000 for every ton we used on every acre of the ten, and if 

 you don't think my personal check is good, I'm sure President Peters will be glad to back me; in fact, 

 I'm not sure but he'll raise it a $1,000 or so for every ton we used and I mean it," he reiterated. "At 

 your figures that would be $50,000 sure money, at least, and you had better start in at ones. Here's 

 the name of the man we bought everything from in the way of fertilizer, that will start you right and 

 quick." 



The stranger had nothing more to say, but left the exhibit at once and I doubt very much if he 

 is hunting for the fertilizer. 



Among our visitors at the latter fair were many market gardeners (all of whom were most com- 

 plimentary about the produce and felt the Experimental Station had done them a personal favor in 

 opening up a territory that had so long been looked upon as valueless and not even considered. Many 

 of them were forced to give up their farms near the city, as price of land and taxation was too high to 

 compete with longer, and big figures were being paid for their acres. They now felt a promised land 

 was open and they would come out into "Suffolk." 



Many of our vegetables at the fairs proved tempting, especially the black radishes to the Germans, 

 while a pile of very large sweet potatoes near a door disappeared mysteriously. One portly lady was 

 seen walking across the grounds with a large yellow potato hugged lovingly against a black silk dress. 

 To quote Kiphng, "it showed up like a ripe banana in a smoke house." 



It was particularly fascinating to watch the interest shown in the various varieties. Without a 

 doubt the one bale of alfalfa, together with the photographs picturing the work in the field from inoculation 

 of seed up to and including the harvest, caused more comment than anything else there. Interest 

 in it was shown by young and old, and in fact the younger men seemed the most eager to know how to 

 grow it successfully. 



A lad of about 18 became so engrossed in it and the other farm products, that he spent a whole 



65 



