American-Agriculturist, December 20 , 1924 
The Trouble Maker —By E. R. Eastman 
C HEERING and stamping of feet 
interrupted Jim, and be waited for 
the noise to subside before he could 
resume. 
Then, as he continued, his voice 
deepened, his face flushed, and his eyes 
flashed with his emotions. The earnest¬ 
ness, sincerity and truth of what he was 
saying reached and stirred the men and 
women in his audience so that they sat 
tense and perfectly quiet to catch every 
syllable. 
“Sometimes I wonder if you folks 
realize what those starvation prices have 
done to you and yours. Look around 
you now; there are not a dozen young 
folks in this room. Where are they? 
Gone! Driven from the homes of their 
fathers—because no amount of toil on 
these farms could give them an honest 
living-” 
“How about those that stayed?” ex¬ 
claimed an excited voice. 
“Yes,” answered Jim, “how about 
them? Grown old before their time. 
How about our girls and our women? 
In the city a girl is a girl until she’s 
forty; in this cow country a girl is an 
old woman at thirty. Why? What fun 
do they ever have? What fun do you 
"men have? The settlers of this country 
said that the three aims of this life 
were: Life itself, liberty and the pursuit 
of happiness. 
“But the milk farmers for a generation 
now have had to change that to life 
itself, labor and the pursuit of cows.” 
(laughter). “I don’t have to tell you 
people how much liberty you have tied 
to a cow’s tail three hundred and sixty- 
five days in the year!” 
GAIN the crowd interrupted the 
speaker to relieve its surcharged 
feelings by cheering and stamping of 
feet. 
“Let me take a moment to tell you the 
story of a little farm boy, because this 
story is also that of millions of other 
farm boys and girls throughout the land. 
This boy was born on a large dairy farm. 
One of the first things he can remember 
is going to the barn with his mother and 
holding on to the cow’s tail to keep it 
from switching in her eyes while she 
milked. For years and years, one of his 
outstanding memories is that of his 
mother carrying two heavy pails of milk 
from the barn across the barnyard, up 
the stile that led over the fence, and into 
the little old milkhouse. For half a life¬ 
time she did this, as well as all of the 
work in the home without any help, and 
found time besides somehow to raise 
her children. 
“This little boy never went even to 
the county fair, and a show was a thing 
unheard of because both father and 
mother were too busy to go, and be¬ 
sides there was never any money to go 
with. 
“The years went on, one much like 
the other, and out of them stands the 
bitter memory of the boy’s father dying; 
a comparatively young man, killed, the 
doctor said, because he went back to 
taking care of his cows too soon after 
an attack of grippe. From then on the 
boy and the mother had to manage, 
until finally the mother’s health broke 
down too, and for what should have 
been the best years of her life, she has 
had a living death as a bed-ridden in¬ 
valid. 
“That’s what producing milk under 
our present system of marketing is 
doing for us dairy farmers—and that is 
what it will continue to do for us just 
as long as we ourselves let it!” 
AUSING for breath, Jim looked at 
his audience which had again be¬ 
come silent with the tense quiet that one 
feels in the air before a great storm, and 
out of all the faces only two registered 
on his subconscious mind. 
One was Dorothy’s. Did he imagine 
it, or was she no longer indifferent, no 
longer indignant? Instead, she seemed 
to be listening to every word intently. 
The other was the face of John Ball. 
He also was interested, but only because 
he was mad. His face was red; black 
eyes under shaggy eybrows flashed 
angrily; white hair was rumpled where 
in moments of exasperation he had run 
his hands through it; while his white 
beard seemed to stick straight out to¬ 
ward Jim, as if pointing accusingly at 
him. 
It came to Taylor with a feeling of 
hopelessness and futility that usually it 
was the people most in need of help 
who stood vigorously in their own light 
by opposing those very things that 
would help them the most. 
“Yes,” he went on, “we farmers are 
mostly to blame for our troubles. We 
have done a lot of talking while the 
milk dealers have done the acting. But 
now we have a chance to act. The 
Dairymen’s League is our own organi¬ 
zation and is the weapon through which 
we can do something. Its directors and 
leaders are dairymen themselves, elected 
by us dairymen. It is at last in a posi¬ 
tion to do something. Whatever that 
something is will depend upon us and 
how well we stand back of it. 
“As 3 r ou know, the dealers have, as 
usual, stated the price they would give 
for October milk. This price is higher 
than it would have been if farmers’ 
opinion had not bee so aroused during 
the past summer over the situation. But 
still this price is far below what it costs 
to produce the milk. 
“For the first time in the history of 
the milk business we farmers are in a 
position to refuse this price and to tell 
these dealers through our representa¬ 
tive, the Dairymen’s League, what we 
will sell our milk for.” 
“What do you want anyway?” yelled 
a farmer. “The price the dealers are 
offerin’ is twenty cents a hundred larger 
than last year!” 
“I want something more than this 
sop,” answered Jim. “They are throw¬ 
ing this twenty cents to us because we 
are excited. Besides, you know they 
usually march us down to their station 
and sign us up for our milk for six 
months. They do not dare to do that 
this fall, and have only asked us to sign 
up for the month of October.” 
“We’ve won somethin’ then,” said 
another farmer. “Why not let well 
enough alone?” 
“What we’ve won,” replied Jim, “is 
mighty little, and unless we do some¬ 
thing to clinch it, it also mighty tem¬ 
porary. These advances the dealers offer 
show we have them on the run. The 
question before the farmers of this ter¬ 
ritory is, are we going to take the sop 
or are we going to keep them running?” 
“What are the League prices, boy?” 
shouted another man. 
“I’m coming to that.” said Jim. “Our 
Dairymen’s League is asking $ 2.15 per 
hundred pounds for 3 % milk for Octo¬ 
ber. Our price is $ 2 . 15 , and the dealer’s 
price is $ 1 . 65 . Men, I ask you, which is 
it going to be? Dealer price or League 
price?” 
HEN pandenlonium broke loose. The 
staid old conservative farmers were 
on their feet, shouting, jumping, throw¬ 
ing their hats in the air, and pounding 
each other on the back. Bradley, the 
chairman, for a time made no effort to 
restrain them. 
Finally, knowing that there was more 
business, they sat down, and it soon be¬ 
came quite, again. 
“Time enough to shout,” said Jim, 
dryly, “when we get this price, and we¬ 
’ve got to do something besides shout¬ 
ing if we do get it. We’ve got the fight 
of our lives before us.” 
“We’re with you!” shouted a voice. 
“What shall we do?” 
“The first thing is to join the Dairy¬ 
men’s League, and sign the contracts we 
have here. We’ve signed the dealer’s 
contracts for a generation. Let’s sign 
these contracts to stand by one another. 
The second thing is to make arrange¬ 
ments to take care of our milk until 
the dealers stand ready to buy it at our 
price. There ought to be several local 
committees appointed and a general or¬ 
ganization countywide committee to 
have charge of the fight in the county. 
This general committee should also see 
that between now and Saturday night a 
local meeting of dairymen is held in 
every community in, this county where 
the situation should be explained and 
local arrangements made for taking care 
of the milk.” 
“That’s pretty important,” said some¬ 
one. “How are we to take care of our 
milk?” ' 
“Every locality will have to figure that 
out for itself. There arc three or four 
farmer-owned plants in this county. If 
you live near one of these plants, you 
can arrange to make butter. Then in 
some communities there are a number 
of cream separators where two or three 
neighbors can arrange with the owner 
of the separator to get their milk 
skimmed. But in most places you will 
simply have to put it into pans and skim 
it at home, and make up your own but¬ 
ter. 
“This will mean temporary loss, sacri¬ 
fice, and a lot of extra work, but I’m 
saying it to you, and saying it hard, that 
even if you have to dump the confound¬ 
ed milk into the ditch, it will be the best 
paid for milk that you ever sold!” 
Again the crowd started to cheer, but 
Bradley pounded them down. 
“That’s about all I have to say to 
you,” concluded Jim. “We now have an 
opportunity; to make the most of that 
opportunity, we must go about it in a 
businesslike way. I hope, therefore, that 
this meeting will not break up until your 
general county organization committee 
has been formed and until every man 
has signed this contract—and until all 
of us are ready to go forth, as farmers 
have gone forth in other great crises, 
to overthrow oppression and to fight 
for the right.” 
IM sat down. Immediately a dozen 
men were on their feet, all shouting, 
“Mr. Chairman,” “Mr. Chairman.” 
What Has Happened in the Story Thus Far 
XJLT HEN Jim Taylor was forced to lick Bill Mead, old Johnny Ball’s 
hired man. it was the last straw. At least so thought pretty 
Dorothy Ball, who had seen her childhood sweetheart oppose her father 
on the issue of actively fighting for better milk prices and who heard 
Bill’s distorted account of the scrap. So poor Jim determines to forget 
Dorothy-^who is now often seen with young Bradley, the farm bureau 
agent—and to throw himself heart and soul into the farmer’s battle. 
The League calls a strike! Speedtown buzzes with excitement, and 
Jim is delegated to speak to the crowded Town Hall meeting. With 
burning words he paints the plight of the dairy farmer. 
Conservative farmers, these, who, ordi¬ 
narily would never think of speaking in 
public. But Jim’s speech and the grave 
milk situation had carried them all be¬ 
yond the point of self-consciousness. 
In the group trying to get recognition 
from the chairman was old John Ball, 
and because Bradley knew that Ball was 
more or less the leader of the group who 
were opposed to what the League was 
trying to do, he gave" him a chr-nce to 
talk. 
The old man got up, and strange to 
say, he smiled. 
“Boys,” he said, “we’ve listened to a 
lot of hot-air oratory this afternoon, and 
a lot of us have got pretty much excited 
—too much so, mebbe.” 
“Set down!” somebody interrupted. 
“That’s right. Put him out!” 
“Now hold on a lettle bit,” said Ball, 
seeming to become calmer as the audi¬ 
ence became more excited and antag¬ 
onistic. “This is a free country, ain’t 
it? Every man’s got a right to his own 
think and say-so. I’m an old man, and 
I’ve made my little bit right here work- 
in’ with you other fellows for a life¬ 
time, and they ain’t no man here more 
interested in what’s good for us than 
old Johnny Ball, if I do say so as 
shouldn’t.” 
“Sign up and get in line '-hen!” young 
Greene shouted. 
“No, I ain’t goin’ to sign up, Dan 
Greene! I was workin’ these hills and 
milkin’ cows before most of you fellers 
were knee-high to a grasshopper, and 
when some of you get a little more 
experience, 3’ou ain’t goin’ to be quite 
so quick to get burned with every new¬ 
fangled notion that comes along.” 
By this time the crowd was getting 
out of control. Hisses and cat-calls were 
becoming common throughout the hall. 
O LD John Ball appealed to the 
chairman. 
“Mr. Bradley,” he said, “do I have 
this here floor or not? As a farmer in 
this neighborhood whose business is 
likely to be ruined by this fool scheme 
we have heard here today, I demand to 
have my say-so”’ 
“Mr. Ball is right,” said the chairman, 
“Fie should have a courteous hearing.” 
“Let him talk sense then,” sang out a 
voice. 
“We’ve heard this kind of talk in this 
county for two or three j'ears, and that’s 
one reason why we ain’t never done 
anything.” 
“That’s right,” said another farmer, 
“every time we try to do anything old 
Ball and other back-numbers like him 
throw sand in the machinery.” 
Jim Taylor slowly unwound hims 
from his chair, got to his feet, and he 
up his hand. 
“Just a word, Mr. Chairman.” 
“Mr. Taylor is recognized.” 
“Two wrongs never make a right,” 
said Jim. “This is America—supposed 
to be the land of free speech. No mat¬ 
ter what we think of Mr. Ball’s senti¬ 
ments, and 3 r ou know I don’t agree with 
them, he still has a right to be heard. 
And if we use our common sense, his 
views, whatever they are, cannot alter 
our determination to do what we think 
is right. Let’s give him a fair hear- 
old j 
iim^ 
M 
.ekf’ 
mg. 
“All right,” said someone, “but let him 
hurry up.” 
Jim sat down and John Ball continue^ 
“It won’t take me long to r say mj^ 
and I know that you folkspn’t 
to an old man’s advice, btl inean * 
jest the same. It may beo L ' iat 
labor in the city is organid an ^ ^ ets 
high vrages. Mebbe it’s scvoo that tie 
capitalists have "organized; ut that am 
no re: .son why we farters shou 
Them folks in die city at- different. 
(Continu d on page 434 ) 
