A STRENUOUS HOLIDAY 



A privation, which I think Mr. Edison and I 

 felt more than did the others, was the scanty or 

 delayed war news ; the local papers, picked up here 

 and there, gave only brief summaries, and when in 

 the larger towns we could get some of the great 

 dailies, the news was a day or two old. When one 

 has hung on the breath of the newspapers for four 

 exciting years, one is lost when cut off from them. 



Such a trip as we were taking was, of course, a 

 kind of a lark, especially to the younger members 

 of the party. Upon Alleghany Mountain, near 

 Barton, West Virginia, a farmer was cradling oats 

 on a side-hill below the road. Our procession 

 stopped, and the irrepressible Ford and Firestone 

 were soon taking turns at cradling oats, but with 

 doubtful success. A photograph shows the farmer 

 and Mr. Ford looking on with broad smiles, watch- 

 ing Mr. Firestone with the fingers of the cradle 

 tangled in the oats and weeds, a smile on his face 

 also, but decidedly an equivocal smile the trick 

 was not so easy as it looked. Evidently Mr. Ford 

 had not forgotten his cradling days on the home 

 farm in Michigan. 



Camp-life is a primitive affair, no matter how 

 many conveniences you have, and things of the 

 mind keep pretty well in the background. Occa- 

 sionally around the campfire we drew Edison out 

 on chemical problems, and heard formula after 

 formula come from his lips as if he were reading 



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