1062 
THE RURAL NBW'1ukj^.c,ix 
October 28, 
Hope Farm Notes 
“Two strikes, three balls!” 
A silence so intense that you could feel 
it fell upon 60,000 people who saw the 
umpire put up his hand to announce the sec¬ 
ond strike. It was the crisis of the first 
baseball game for the world’s championship 
between New York and Philadelphia. The 
great stands were black with people, and 
thousands more were perched upon the 
rocks which rose above the level in which 
the ball grounds are laid out. The boy 
and I sat on the bleachers. It was the 
only place we could get, and we sat there 
three hours before the game began—and 
we were among the last to get in. Of 
course you will say we should have been 
at home picking apples—but without dis¬ 
cussing that I will admit that we were 
packed away in that “bleacher” crowd. 
There were some 25,000 of us crowded on 
those wooden benches with our feet hanging 
down. Here and there in this black mass 
of hats a spot of lighter color showed where 
some woman had crowded in with the rest. 
There may have been 100 women in this 
crowd. The “stands” where the reserved 
seats are placed were bright with women's 
gay colors. Our seats were not reserved* 
but well “deserved” after our struggle for 
them. 
I enjoyed the crowd as much as I did the 
game. Many of you have no doubt read 
that description in “Ben Hur” of the motley 
crowd which surged out to the crucifixion. 
Oibbon describes the masses of humans who 
attended the Roman games. The world as 
known at that time gathered at these spec¬ 
tacles, yet I doubt if those old-time hordes 
could show the variety of blood or color 
which showed within 1,000 feet of where 
we were. Within four feet sat two colored 
men showing traces of two distinct 
African races. The young man on my right 
was certainly an Irishman. The fat man, 
who was wide enough to fill two seats was 
a German. In front an Italian, behind a 
Swede, off there a Frenchman, a Spaniard 
and even a Chinaman. There was an Arab 
whose father ate dates in the desert. The 
son had looked forward to this date as an 
oasis in the desert of hard work. Here 
were Indians, Japanese, Mexicans, Russians, 
Turks—the entire world had poured the 
blood of its races into this vast crowd. I 
do not believe the great Coliseum at Rome 
ever held a larger company. Yet this crowd 
was different. In the savage hordes of 
centuries ago the air was filled with a 
babel of sound—each race shrieking in its 
own language. This vast army of “fans” 
thought and spoke in the common languages 
of English and baseball. For there is a 
true language of baseball. Nothing can be 
popular unless it acquires a language of its 
own. It was an orderly crowd too. Some¬ 
how these waiting men seemed to feel that 
they had come to the hush and dignity of 
a great occasion. l T ou may laugh at us— 
you poor unfortunate people who do not 
1 now a home run from a flv catch, but you 
have missed a lot of the thrill and joy of 
life. We feel sorry for you. To the true 
baseball crank this game represented the 
climax of the year, for here were the best 18 
players in the world ready for the supreme 
struggle. So these thousands sat silent and 
watchful, for as you may know when stirred 
by passion 60.000 people may give vent to 
the most hideous and awesome sound. Yet 
when stilled by the thought of what is to 
come the silence of this great army is most 
profound. Now, of course you and I may 
K ^y what a pity that all these people and 
the energy and money they represent could 
not be used for some more useful purpose. 
I could name half a dozen things which 
this country needs. If it were possible to 
gather 6(1,000 people in behalf of any of 
these things with the claws of elemental 
savagery barely covered with thin cotton 
gloves no legislature in the land would dare 
refuse the demanded law. That is true, but 
it is also true that human nature has not 
yet evolved from the point where at the last 
analysis the physical power and what it 
stands for appeals first to the young and 
strong. You cannot get away from that, 
and it must be considered in all our regrets 
about the “younger generation.” We can 
have anything we want in legislation and 
reform whenever we can work up a spirit 
and <^ mand for 5t which is akin to this 
baseball feeling! For in this silent, or¬ 
derly crowd there was nothing but cotton 
over the claws. There was a dignified look¬ 
ing citizen not far from us who looked like 
a fair representative of the “City of Brother¬ 
ly Love. T ou would pick him as one of a 
thousand to take charge of a Sunday school. 
wj?en a Philadelphia player raced home 
uitn the first run there came a hoarse cry 
even have startled a listless Caesar 
® yoars ago. There was our Philadel- 
pnia friend on one foot waving his hat and 
shrieking defiance and taunts at the crowd 
of New York “fans.” Why, the germ of 
that man s mind was back in the centuries, 
<lad in hairy flesh and skins shouting a war 
CI Z *T Wha t were thpn its enemies! And 
when New York tied the score the entire 
bleachers seemed to rise like a great black 
wave of humanity with shrieks and cries 
and waving hats. For the moment these 
were hardly human beings—as we like to 
consider the race. They were crazy barbar¬ 
ians lapsed for the moment back to clcmen- 
tal motives. And as I came back to find 
myself standing up with the rest I was not 
sure but that the brief trip back to barbar- 
isni had not after all been a profitable one ! 
Hut we left the umpire standing with his 
hand up calling two strikes! It was the 
firth inning, and the score one to one. There 
were two out and New York had worked a 
man around to third base. One more 
pitched ball would tell the story. Consider 
the mix-up of the races in this “American 
game. The man on third base straining 
like a greyhound to get home was an Indian 
The man at bat was of French blood, while 
the next batter was an Irishman with a 
•Tew close behind him. The catcher was an 
Englishman and the pitcher a pure Indian, j 
This Indian stood there like a silent repre- j 
sentative of fate with the ball in his hand 
eyeing that Frenchman, who shook his bat 
defiantly. I presume neither of them 
thought for the instant how 200 years ago 
it would have been tomahawk against mus¬ 
ket in place of ball and bat. Yet the race 
traits were evident—the light and airy nerve 
of the Gaul and crafty silence of the red 
man ! Oh, how that ball did go in. “Ball !” 
shouted the umpire and the batter took his 
base. Then it seemed as if bedlam had 
broken loose. Men and women shouted and 
cheered and laughed and cried, for they 
thought that Indian was “rattled” at last. 
But his ancestors went through too much 
fire for that. He stood in the center as cool 
as a cake of ice. The play for the man 
on first was to run to second when the ball 
was pitched, and run he did. I noticed that 
the catcher jumped six feet to the right as 
that Indian threw the ball. It went like 
lightning right into the catcher’s hands. 
The second baseman had run up behind the 
pitcher and took the throw from the 
catcher. Of course the runner on third tried 
to run in on this throw, but back came 
the hall ahead of him and he was out! 
Then in an instant the mighty crowd saw 
that New York had been ambushed. It 
was a great trick, and played so accurately 
and quickly and with such daring that even 
the Philadelphia “fans” were mind paralyzed 
and forgot to cheer. The silence which 
followed the Indian to the player’s bench 
was the most eloquent tribute of the day. 
And it happened, as every “sport” already 
knows, that New York finally won two to 
one. The needed runs were made on 
mighty hits by an Indian and an Irishman 
and the great crowd filed out and home to 
talk it over. I wish I could tell my chil¬ 
dren how some Cape Cod Yankee had a 
hand in it. but too many of them are occu¬ 
pied in telling what they or their ancestors 
used to do. I think the game was in¬ 
vented and developed by Yankees, and that 
they have made most money out of it. 
Probably Cape Cod is willing to rest con¬ 
tent with this and let the others handle 
the ball. I am ready to admit we ought 
to have been home picking apples, but we 
saw the game, and the apple harvest will 
go better to pay for it. 
Farm Notes.— Our apple crop is larger 
than we figured. It takes an expert. I find, 
to tell what a tree will really produce. I 
estimated one of our Baldwin trees at four 
barrels and we picked over seven. Another 
fell a little below the estimate. As a whole 
we shall have one-third more than we fig¬ 
ured on. They are being picked rapidly 
and will evidently be off in time. The Spy 
and Ben Davis will be picked last. The 
Greenings are being sold now. To my no¬ 
tion this is one of the best apples we have, 
especially for cooking. A pie or pan dowdy 
made of ripe Greening apples would even 
make a baseball crank forget a defeat for 
the home team. Yet some of our cus¬ 
tomers have to be “shown” before they will 
take Greenings. They want red apples. I 
never realized until this year how much 
this color has to do with selling apples. 
It certainly is enough to make a man 
thoughtful to see intelligent people select 
unmatured Ben Davis in preference to ripe 
Greenings because the former has some red 
on its cheek! . . . This is about the 
last chance for advice about seeding rye. 
You can still put in the grain south of New 
York. It will not make a large growth this 
Fall, but will come on and do well next 
Spring. This Is the last chance to say 
“Keep the soil covered with a living crop.” 
As we expected, the vellow turnip 
crop promises to be profitable this year. 
When potatoes are scarce and high the yel¬ 
low turnip is freely used as a substitute. 
We sowed the seed after several first crops, 
such as strawberries, peas, sweet corn, etc. 
The wet Fall has forced these turnips along 
until the crop will rank above the average. 
Rye can be seeded among the turnips now 
to cover the ground in November. Do not 
make the mistake of supposing that be¬ 
cause the frost kills all vegetation in No¬ 
vember there is no loss from the ground. 
It is one of the most dangerous months 
for losing nitrates out of the soil. These 
nitrates accumulate through late Summer 
and Fall, and November is usually a wet 
month. This means the passage of much 
water over and through the soil. These 
nitrates will be washed out and carried 
away as surely as wood ashes lose their 
potash when water is run through the 
“leach.” Rye, clover or some* living crop 
holding the soil through November will 
utilize these nitrates and save them for you. 
This is about the last time we can point 
this out with any hope that the advice 
will be in time. 
I never have known anything like the 
calls for farm help. They come from every¬ 
where. Some are willing to say “anybody !” 
while others are more particular. One 
woman farmer wants a young man who will 
work faithfully all day and then prefer to 
stay at home and read hooks and papers 
rather, than go to the cider mill or store! 
Another man has just bought a large farm. 
He wants “a cleanly couple, preferably 
one without children, and positively no 
children under 12 and positively no daugh¬ 
ters.” If any one knows where such para¬ 
gons are to be found let him step forward. 
Most of us are obliged to take about what 
comes along. Still, it is business to state 
just what we want and look for it. One 
thing is sure, the “help” question is any¬ 
thing but helpful. h. w. C. 
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