415 
American Agriculturist, December 13, 1924 
The Trouble Maker-sy£ 
TIM went back to his wagon, while 
the men, all but Bill, began again to 
put on the corn. Bill sat on a bundle of 
corn, nursing his head for a few moments, 
then went down across the lots to the 
blower and a little later he went home to 
Ball’s. 
Reflecting bitterly on the scrap later, 
Jim decided that Fate seemed to con¬ 
spire constantly to make him notorious in 
the eyes of his neighbors, and particularly 
in the opinion of Dorothy Ball. Certainly 
no one would be more condemnatory and 
disgusted with his fight with Mead than 
Dorothy. 
In this he was right, for if one were to 
believe Bill’s distorted account of the 
affair to John Ball and Dorothy a few 
minutes after he had reached home, Jim 
had conducted himself as no gentleman 
would. 
As Ball and his daughter walked up the 
road together a little later, John to take 
Bill’s place and Dorothy to help the 
Kortwright women folks wait on the big 
silo filling gang at dinner, John Ball said: 
“That Taylor is certainly gcttin’ to be 
a regular brawling bully,” and as Dorothy 
made no comment, he took it for granted 
that she agreed with him. 
A FTER ages of toiling back and forth 
across the cornfield, leading the 
never-ending wagons, ages in which the 
hot September sun grew hotter while the 
men longingly watched it climb slowly to 
the noon mark, ages in which sore hands 
and arms grew sorer still and lame backs 
lamer, the old traction engine blew for the 
noon shutdown, and with a “whoop” the 
men broke for the house and dinner. 
Ranged on the lqpg bench outside of the 
kitchen door by the pump, were the wash 
basins, and there was much blowing, 
snorting and splashing in the water as 
the men made sketchy toilets, filling in 
the waits with the bantering, joking and 
horse-play which usually takes place 
among gangs of American workmen when 
they get together. 
Then came the dinner on the long 
extended table in the big farm kitchen— 
great platters of fried chicken, fried in 
real butter, too, were flanked by bowls of 
biscuits floating in thick gravy. Several 
dishes of mashed potatoes well supported 
with other vegetables of every kind and 
description, canned peaches, jell ies, pickles 
and preserves; great pitchers of milk to 
be followed by generous supplies of apple 
and “pumpkin” pie, all melted rapidly 
away before the silent but effective on¬ 
slaught of the men, hungry as only the 
open air and hard physical labor can make 
men hungry. 
As Jim washed at the bench, he was 
wondering how in all the world he could 
get enough courage with his swollen nose 
and face to go in to dinner and face the 
women folks. But he knew that his 
absence would make more comment than 
would his presence. So he took his 
place at the table with the rest. 
D URING the early part of the meal, 
he paid strict attention to his food, 
bending his face to his plate as did the 
other men. With the first pangs of 
hunger satisfied, the talk began to flow 
again and Jim looked up at somebody’s 
remark addressed to him and met squarely 
the level scornful gaze of Dorothy Ball, 
who was standing at the rear of the room 
a moment in the lull of waiting on the 
table. 
A long moment she looked fully at 
Jim, then with disdainful toss of proud 
head, she squarely turned her back. 
Noticing that Jim had not answered 
the question asked him, two or three of 
the men followed his eyes and saw the 
little by-play. Now they looked curi¬ 
ously at Jim as he again tried casually to 
resume his eating. 
As the men were leaving the table, one 
of the women told Jim that he was wanted 
on the telephone in the “settin’ room.” 
Glad of an excuse to retire from the room 
in good order, Jim arose and went to the 
telephone. 
“This is Albert Manning, secretary of 
the Dairymen’s League, speaking,” came 
the message. “The records show that 
you are secretary of your local League at 
North Speedtown. Is this right?” 
Jim said that it was. 
“Well, I am going to depend upon you 
now. Listen carefully. Can you hear 
all right?” 
“Yes,” said Taylor. “Go ahead.” 
“Beginning with Sunday, October 1st, 
the farmers are going to withhold their 
milk.” 
“The strike has come!” said Jim. 
“Yes, we face the test now,” answered 
Maiming. “As you know, the League 
has stated the price at which it would sell 
farmers’ milk and the dealers have 
definitely said that they will not pay that 
price. Therefore, we must prepare for 
trouble. Under no circumstances must 
there be any milk delivered after Satur¬ 
day, September 30th, until it is released 
by your sales agent, the Dairymen’s 
League. Get the word around. Make 
/^AUTSIDE, the men were scattered 
^ under various shade trees getting a 
few moments rest before the afternoon 
toil. 
Forgetting swollen face, forgetting 
even all his personal troubles, Jim 
rushed out among them. 
“The fight’s on, boys!” he shouted. 
“The League has called a strike! We’ve 
got to hold a big meeting at Speedtown as 
soon as we can get the word around.” 
“We can get everybody out by Thurs¬ 
day afternoon,” spoke up Harry Bradley. 
“Let’s set it for then.” 
“Good,” said Taylor. “Let it be at 
two o’clock on Thursday. We will get 
together and find out what we are going 
to do with this milk and how we will 
handle it until the dealers are licked. 
Let’s all be there, boys, and see that 
everyone else is there, too!” 
“Now hold on a minute,” said John 
Ball. “Not so fast. You fellers can’t 
hold no meetin’ on Thursday. You all 
promised to help me fill silo on that day.” 
“To blazes with your silo,” excitedly 
interr'upted one of the men. “We’d 
What Has Happened in the Story so Far 
J IM TAYLOR, by espousing the cause of the Dairymen’s League, a new 
organization which he believes will help farmers get better prices for 
their milk, seems to have alienated his best friends. Old Johnny Ball, 
his neighbor, is his bitterest opponent, while Dorothy, his daughter and 
Jim’s childhood sweetheart, now is cold and distant to the unhappy 
young farmer. Bradley, the county agent, falls in love with Dorothy and 
Jim constantly sees them together. An unavoidable fight in which Jim 
takes the part of the under-dog, is reported to her as a disgraceful brawl 
and she is colder than ever. Jim tries to forget his heart ache in the stir¬ 
ring fight organized by the League and in the daily round of farm duties, 
and work exchanged with the neighbors. 
arrangements for taking care of your milk 
at home. If there is a local cooperative 
creamery anywhere in your section, try 
to arrange to have this creamery separate 
your milk.” 
“How far shall I go in notifying the 
other locals in this county?” asked Jim. 
B-rrmr! B-rrrrrr! B-rrrrrr! Mr. 
Manning’s voice became indistinct, then 
could not be heard at all. 
“Wait a minute!” shouted Jim. ‘T 
can’t hear you. Receivers are all down 
on the line.” 
There was a pause and then he heard 
Manning speaking again. 
“Can you hear me now?” 
“Yes, go ahead.” 
“Get hold of your county agent. I 
tried to ’phone him, but he is out of the 
office. Arrange to follow your meeting 
at Speedtown with a meeting of every 
local League in your county. Let me 
have the date of your Speedtown meeting 
as soon as you have it, and I shall send a 
speaker. Our bridges are burned. We 
have got to go ahead. But we are in 
good shape. Orange County is nearly 
solid for the League. Other of the big 
dairy counties are rapidly falling into line. 
Hundreds of applications for membership 
are pouring into this office every day. 
Can you hear me?” 
“Yes,” answered Jim. ‘T hear.” 
“Well, remember, my boy, this is the 
great crisis. We are depending upon 
you. Keep me informed, use all honor¬ 
able means to stop the milk, but under no 
conditions allow any violence. That’s 
all now. Good-by.” 
“Good-by,” said Jim, and stood for a 
moment with the receiver in his hand, 
dazed by the news he had just received. 
Then he began ringing frantically for 
central. 
“Get me the farm bureau office at 
Speedtown.” 
After a few moments, the girl in 
Bradley’s office told him that the county 
agent was out, but that she thought he 
was coming toward North Speedtown. 
“Sure enough,” said Jim. “We’re in 
luck. He’s out here now. He’s just 
driven up.” 
better sell the milk we’ve got before we 
fill any more silos.” 
“But it off another day, Johnny,” said 
another, more kindly. “We’ll all help 
you on Friday. But, by thunder, we’re all 
goin’ to this meetin’ for this milk market¬ 
ing business must come first.” 
“Brad,” said Jim, turning to the 
county agent, “we’re depending upon you 
to see that every farmer in this end of the 
county knows about that Thursday meet¬ 
ing. It’ll also be up to you to arrange for 
meetings in every community following 
the big meeting at Speedtown.” 
“I’ll go right back to the office now,” 
said Bradley, “and get busy on the 
’phone.” 
A few moments later, after the men had 
returned to their work, Jim noticed that 
Bradley was as good as his word, and had 
headed his car down the road toward 
town. 
He also noticed that with him, and 
sitting closer to him than mere friendship 
seemed to justify, was Dorothy Ball. 
CHAPTER XII 
T HE old Town Hall at Speedtown had 
been built for an increased population 
that never materialized. Lumber, labor 
and hopes had been plentiful so the hall 
was built in spacious proportions. Once 
only in all the long years had a capacity 
audience justified the vision of the build¬ 
ers. That was on a memorable day in 
the early sixties when the young and old 
of Speedtown gathered to see what part 
Speedtown should play in the great under¬ 
taking Abe Lincoln had to prove the 
Union “one and inseparable.” 
Perhaps the early American farmers 
did not care for meetings, but they 
certainly turned out on that day. More¬ 
over, most of them turned out for three 
years and some of them are still out with 
the sun, the wind and the stars of South¬ 
ern battlefields. After the fife and drums 
had played and old Colonel Harris, the 
Mexican War hero, had made an impas¬ 
sioned speech, three hundred men, the 
best of all that section’s young manhood. 
R. Eastman 
followed Jim Taylor’s father down the 
aisle, and signed up with Lincoln’s 
gathering hosts “for three months or 
until the end of the war.” 
Now on this September day, 1916, 
the farmer hosts were gathered again, 
and would continue to gather in almost 
every farm community from one end of 
America to the other until they had set 
in motion those hundreds of cooperative 
organizations which they hoped would 
help solve their marketing difficulties. 
They were gathered this time, not for a 
political, but for an economic struggle. 
Absent were all the fireworks and martial 
music of that other and earlier meeting; 
absent were the pomp and circumstance 
of war; but the same grim spirit of deter¬ 
mination, the same tense atmosphere 
were there in that audience of earnest 
farmer men and women packing the 
1 own Hall to capacity for the second time 
in its existence. 
A S Jim Taylor stood watching the 
silent crowd file in and take their 
seats, he thought of similar crowds 
meeting that day for the same purpose all 
through the farm country. For a moment 
the curtain of the future raised and it 
seemed to him that this economic struggle 
to save and preserve the American farms 
through cooperation would go down in 
history as of the same far-reaching 
importance as that struggle of the Sixties 
which had called out the first great meet¬ 
ing of Speedtown farmers. 
Farm bureau manager, Harry Bradley, 
called the meeting to order, asked for a 
chairman, and was himself elected. 
<( “It is hardly necessary,” he told them, 
“for me to state the purpose of this meet¬ 
ing. You know. Neither am I going to 
take up your time with a long speech. 
“I have a letter here from Albert 
Manning, Secretary of the Dairymen’s 
League, which I shall read, and then I 
shall introduce Mr. Manning’s repre¬ 
sentative who will give you the facts as 
they have recently developed, and discuss 
with you plans to meet the situation. 
The letter is addressed to the farmers of 
Speedtown and vicinity, and it reads as 
follows: 
“ ‘Fellow Dairymen: 
“ ‘I am very sorry that I cannot 
personally attend your meeting, but I 
feel that my services are needed more 
here on the firing line face to face with 
the dealers. I have, however, chosen 
a representative, one who knows the 
facts, and one who can explain them 
as well as I. Moreover, he is one of 
your own number and I believe that 
if this fight which we have started is to 
succeed, it will be almost entirely 
through your own efforts. You must 
develop your own leaders and your 
own initiative. We, your officers, are 
but your servants. We can go as far, 
and do only as much as your personal 
support justifies. 
“ ‘The man who will give you the 
facts has spent more time and money 
in this cause than any of you realize. 
He is one of the best informed farmers 
in our state on the present dairy situa¬ 
tion. I have the utmost confidence in 
him. 
“ ‘As to the present trouble, I feel 
that it is your opportunity. Farming 
^ today stands at a cross-roads and this 
contest will decide which road you will 
follow, and your future and your 
children’s future on the farm. 
“ ‘During the present struggle, 
accept no rumors, believe no propa¬ 
ganda, and listen to instructions only 
from your own headquarters. It is 
not necessary for me to say to Ameri¬ 
can farmers that there must be no 
violence and that force will do us 
more harm than good. Nor should it 
be necessaiy for me to state that all 
of us must put our shoulders to the 
wheel and use every honorable means 
to win this fight. 
{Continued on page ^20) 
