114 
American Agriculturist, August 18,1923 
The 
Brown Mouse — By Herbert Quick 
“ p SHOULD think it would be awfully hard for you to get fitted in the stores,” 
JL said she, “you are so very tall.” 
“It would be,” said Jim, “if I had ever considered the matter of looks very 
much. I guess I’m not constructed on any plan the clothing manufacturers have 
regarded as even remotely possible. How about this county fair idea? Couldn’t 
we do this next fall? You organize the teachers—” 
Jennie advanced the spark, cut out the muffler and drowned the rest of Jim’s 
remarks in wind and dust. 
“I give it up, dad,” said she to her father that evening. 
“What?” queried the colonel. 
“Jim Irwin’s clothes,” she replied. “I think he’ll go to Ames in a disgraceful 
plight, but I can’t get any closer to the subject than I have done.” 
“Oh, then you haven’t heard the news,” said the colonel. “Jim’s going to have 
his first made-to-measure suit for Ames. It’s all fixed.” 
“Who’s making it?” asked Jennie. 
“Gustaf Paulsen, the Dane that’s just opened a shop in town,” 
“A Dane?” queried Jennie. “Isn’t he related to some of the neighbors?” 
“A brother to Mrs. Hansen,” an¬ 
swered the colonel. 
“Bettina’s uncle!” 
“Ratherly,” said the. colonel jocularly, 
“seeing as how Bettina’s Mrs. Hansen’s 
daughter.” 
Clothes are rather important, but 
the difference between a suit made by 
Atkins the tailor, and one built by 
Gustaf Paulsen, the new Danish crafts¬ 
man, could not be supposed to be 
crucially important, even when de¬ 
signed for a very dear friend. And 
Jim was scarcely that—of course not! 
Why, then, did the county superinten¬ 
dent hastily run to her room, and cry? 
Why did she say to herself that the 
Hansens were very good people, and 
well-to-do, and it would be a fine thing 
for Jim and his mother—and then cry 
some more? Colonel Woodruff failed to 
notice Jennie’s unceremonious retire¬ 
ment from circulation that evening, 
and had he known all about what took 
place, he would have been as mystified 
as you or I. 
CHAPTER XVIII 
JIM GOES TO AMES 
T HE boat tipped over, and Jim Irwin 
was left struggling in the water. It 
was in the rapids just above the cata¬ 
ract—and poor Jim could not swim a 
stroke. Helpless, terrified, gasping, he 
floated to destruction, and Jennie Wood¬ 
ruff was not able to lift a hand to help 
him. When a young man who was 
once that county superintendent’s 
sweetheart, falls in, clothed in a new 
made-to-order suit in which he looks 
almost handsome, the experience is 
something almost impossible to endure. 
That is why Jennie gripped her seat 
until she must have scratched the 
varnish. 
And then Jim began to swim. He 
cast aside the roll of manuscript, and 
struck out for the shore with strong 
strokes—wild and agitated at first, but 
gradually becoming controlled, and 
Jennie drew a long breath as he finally 
came to shore, master of the element 
in which he moved. There was a burst 
of applause, and people went forward 
to congratulate the greenhorn who had 
really made good. 
Jennie felt like throwing her arms 
about his neck and weeping out her 
joy at his escape, and his restoration 
to her. Her eyes told him something 
of this; for there was a look in them 
which reminded him of fifteen years 
ago. Bettina Hansen was proud of 
him, and Con Bonner shook his hand 
and said that he agreed with him. 
Neither Bettina nor Con had noticed 
the capsizing of the boat, but Jim 
knew how near he had been to disaster, 
and knew that Jennie knew. For she 
had seen him turn pale when he came 
on the platform had seen him begin the 
speech, had observed how unable he was 
to remember it, had noted his confusion 
as he tried to find his manuscript, they 
had seen him begin just talking to his 
audience, and had observed how he won 
first their respect, then their attention, 
then apparently their convictions. 
Jim had never felt more the upstart, 
uneducated farm-hand, than when he 
was introduced by Professor Withers, 
nor more completely disgraced than 
when he concluded his remarks. Even 
the applause was to him a kindly effort 
on the part of the audience to comfort 
him in his failure. His only solace 
was the look in Jennie’s eyes. 
“Young man,” said an old farmer 
who wore thick glasses and looked like 
a Dutch burgomaster, “I want to have 
a little talk with you.” 
“This is Mr. Hofmyer of Pottawa¬ 
tomie County,” said the dean of the 
college. 
“I’m glad to meet you,” said Jim. 
“I can talk to you now.” 
“No,” said Jennie. “I know Mr. 
Hofmyer will excuse you until after 
dinner. We have a little party for Mr. 
Irwin, and we shall be late if we don’t 
hurry.” 
“Where can I see you after supper?” 
asked Mr. Hofmyer. 
Easy it was to satisfy Mr. Hof¬ 
myer; and Jim was carried off to a din¬ 
ner given by County Superintendent 
Jennie to Jim, the dean, Professor 
Withers, and one or two others—and a 
wonderfully select and distinguished 
company it seemed to Jim. Jennie 
seized a moment’s opportunity to say, 
“You did beautifully, Jim; everybody 
says so.” 
“I failed!” said Jim. “You know I 
failed. I couldn’t remember my speech.” 
“You made the best address of the 
meeting; and you did it because you 
forgot your speech,” insisted Jennie. 
“Does anybody else think so?” 
“Why, Jim! Even Con Bonner says 
it was the best. He says he didn’t 
think you had it in ye!” 
“What does Professor Withers say?” 
he asked. 
“He’s delighted—silly!” 
“Silly!” - How wonderful it was to 
be called “silly”—in that tone. 
“I shouldn’t have forgotten the 
speech if it hadn’t been for this darned 
boiled shirt and collar, and for wear¬ 
ing a cravat,” urged Jim in extenuation. 
“You ought to 've worn them around 
the house for a week before coming,” 
said Jennie. “Why didn’t you ask my 
advice?” 
“I will, next time, Jennie,” said Jim. 
“I didn’t suppose I needed a bitting-rig 
—but I guess I did!” 
Jennie ran away then to ask Nils 
Hansen and Bettina to join their din¬ 
ner party. She had a sudden access 
of friendliness for the Hansens. Nils 
refused because he was going out to 
see the college herds fed; but at Jen¬ 
nie’s urgent request, reinforced by pats 
and hugs, Bettina consented. Jennie 
was very happy, and proved herself a 
beaming hostess. The dean devoted 
himself to Bettina—and Jim found out 
aftei’ward that this inquiring gentle¬ 
man was getting at the mental pro¬ 
cesses of a specimen pupil. He thanked 
Jim for his speech, and said it was 
“most suggestive and thought-provok¬ 
ing,” and as the party broke up slipped 
into Jim’s hand a check. Jim felt like 
returning it to the conscience fund of 
the State of Iowa, if it by any chance 
possessed such a fund. 
CHAPTER XIX 
JIM’S WORLD WIDENS 
R. HOFMYER was waiting to give 
Jim the final convincing proof that 
he had produced an effect with his 
speech. 
“Do you teach the kind of school you 
lay out in your talk?” he asked. 
“I try to,” said Jim, “and I believe 
I do.” 
“Well,” said Mr. Hofmyer, “that’s 
the kind of education I b’lieve in. I 
kep’ school back in Pennsylvany fifty 
years ago, and I made the scholars 
measure things, and weigh things, and 
apply their studies as fur as I could.” 
“All good teachers have always done 
that,” said Jim. “Froebel, Pestalozzi, 
Colonel Parker—they all had the idea 
which is at the bottom of my work; 
‘learn to do by doing,’ ” 
“M’h’m,” grunted Mir. Hofmyer, “I 
hain’t been able to see how Latin con¬ 
nects up with a high-school kid’s life.” 
“But it used to relate to life,” said 
Jim, “the life of the people who made 
Greek and Latin a part of everybody 
else’s education as well as their own. 
But now”—Jim spread out his arms as 
if to take in the whole world—“science, 
the marvelous literature of our tongue 
in the last three centuries! And to 
make a child learn Latin with all that, 
a thousand times richer than all the 
literature of Latin, lying unused before 
him!” 
“Know any Latin?” asked Mr. Hof¬ 
myer. 
Jim blushed, as one caught in con¬ 
demning what he knows nothing about. 
“I—I have studied the grammar, and 
read Caesar ,” he faltered, “but that 
isn’t much.” 
“I’ve had all the Latin they gave in 
the colleges of my time,” said Mr. Hof¬ 
myer, “if I do talk dialect; and I’ll 
agree with you so far as to say that it 
would have been a crime for me to 
neglect the chemistry, bacteriology, 
physics, engineering and other sciences 
that pertain to farmin’—if there’d been 
any such sciences when I was gettin’ 
my schoolin’.” 
“And yet,” said Jim, “some people 
want us to guide ourselves by the 
courses of study made before these 
sciences existed.” 
“I don’t, by hokey!” said Mr. Hof¬ 
myer. “I’ll be dag-goned if you ain’t 
right. I wouldn’t ’a’ said so before I 
heard that speech—but I say so now.” 
Jim’s face lighted up at this, the first 
convincing evidence that he had scored. 
“I b’lieve, too,” went on Mr. Hof¬ 
myer, “that your idee would please our 
folks. I’ve been the standpatter in our 
parts. What d’ye say to cornin’ down 
and teachin’ our school? We’ve got a 
two-room affair, and I was made a com¬ 
mittee of one to find a teacher.” 
“I—I don’t see how—” Jim stam¬ 
mered, all taken aback by this new 
breeze of recognition. 
“We can’t pay much,” said Mr. Hof¬ 
myer. “You have charge of the dis- 
cip-line in the whole school, and teach 
in Number Two room. Seventy-five 
dollars a month. Does it appeal to ye?” 
Appeal to him! Why, eighteen 
months ago it would have been worth 
crawling across the State after, and 
now to have it offered to him—it was 
stupendous. And yet, how about the 
Simmses, Colonel Woodruff, the Han¬ 
sens and Newton Bronson, now just 
getting a firm start on the upward path 
to usefulness and real happiness? 
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Jim Irwin, 
“but—” 
“If you’re only ’fraid you can’t,” 
said Mr., Hofmyer, “think it over. I’ve 
got your post-office address on this pro¬ 
gram, and we’ll write you a formal 
offer. We may spring them figures a 
little. Think it over.” 
“You musn’t think,” said Jim, “that 
we’ve done all the things I mentioned 
in my talk, or that I haven’t made any 
mistakes or failures.” 
“Your county superintendent didn’t 
mention any failures,” said Mr. Hof¬ 
myer. 
“I had not supposed,” said Jim, “that 
she had a very high opinion of my 
work.” 
“I didn’t ask her about that,” said 
Mr. Hofmyer, “though I guess she 
thinks well of it. I asked her what 
you are tryin’ to do, and what sort of 
a fellow you are. I was favorably im¬ 
pressed; but she didn’t meption any 
failures.” 
“We haven’t succeeded in adopting a 
successful system of selling our cream,” 
said Jim. “I believe we can do it, but 
we haven’t.” 
“Wal,” said Mr. Hofmyer, “I d’know 
as I’d call that a failure. The fact that 
you’re tryin’ of it shows you’ve got the 
right idees. We’ll write ye, and mebbe 
pay your way down to look us over. 
We’re a pretty good crowd, the neigh¬ 
bors think.” 
CHAPTER XX 
THINK OF IT 
A MES was an inspiration. Jim Irwin 
.received from the great agricultural 
college more real education in this one 
trip than many students get from a 
four years’ course in its halls; for he 
had spent ten years in getting ready 
for the experience. The great farm of 
hundreds of acres, the commodious 
classrooms and laboratories, and es¬ 
pecially the barns, the greenhouses, 
gardens, herds and flocks filled him 
with a sort of apostolic joy. 
“Every school,” said he to Professor 
Withers, “ought to be doing a good deal 
of the work you have to do here.” 
“I’ll admit,” said the professor, “that 
much of our work in agriculture is 
pretty elementary.” 
“It’s -intermediate school work,” said 
Jim. “It's a wrong to force boys and 
girls to leave their homes and live in a 
college to get so much of what they 
should have before they’re ten years 
old.” 
“There’s something in what you say,” 
said the professor, “but some experi¬ 
ment station men seem to think that 
agriculture in the common schools will 
take from the young men and women 
the felt need, and therefore the desire 
to come to the college.” 
“If you can’t give them anything 
better than high-school work,” said 
Jim, “that will be so; but if the science 
and art of agriculture is what I think 
it is, it would make them hungry for 
the advanced work that really can’t be 
done at home.” 
“I think you’re right,” said the pro¬ 
fessor. 
“Give us the kind of schools I ask 
for,” cried Jim, “and I’ll fill a college 
like this in every congressional district 
in Iowa, or I’ll force you to tear this 
down and build larger.” 
The professor laughed at his en¬ 
thusiasm. 
More nearly happy, and rather 
shorter of money than he had recently 
been, Jim journeyed home among the 
companions from his own neighborhood. 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED 
ENNIE WOODRUFF, who had 
always taken Jim Irwin very 
much for granted, finds him de¬ 
veloping into a community hero. 
He has made the school so famous 
that it has exhibited at the Farm¬ 
er’s Week, and he has been asked 
to speak at the college, too. And 
just then she overhears a conver¬ 
sation which links the names of 
Jim and Bettina Hansen, a neigh¬ 
bor’s daughter. Meanwhile Jim 
is going ahead with his school 
plans in spite of the opposition 
of a “stand pat” school board. 
Mr. Hofmyer had dropped from his 
mind, until Con Bonner, his old enemy, 
drew him aside in the vestibule of the 
train and spoke to him in the mysterious 
manner peculiar to politicians. 
“What kind of a proposition did that 
man Hofmeister make you?” he in¬ 
quired. “He asked me about you, and I 
told him you’re a crackerjack.” 
“I’m much obliged,” replied Jim. 
“No use in back-cappin’ a fellow 
that’s tryin’ to make somethin’ of him¬ 
self,” said Bonner. “Anything to him?” 
“He offered me a salary of seventy- 
five dollars a month to take charge of 
his school,” said Jim. 
“Well,” said Con, “we’ll be sorry to 
lose yeh, but you can’t turn down any¬ 
thing like that.” 
“I don’t know,” said Jim. “I haven’t 
decided.” 
Bonner scrutinized his face sharply, 
as if to find out what sort of game he 
was playing. 
“Well,” said he, at last, “I hope you 
can stay with us, o’ course. If the rist 
of the district can stand your kind of 
thricks, I can. And say, Jim”—here 
he grew still more mysterious—“if you 
do stay, some of us would like to have 
you go into the next convintion f’r 
county superintendent.” 
“Why,” replied Jim, “I never thought 
of such a thing!” 
“Well, think of it,” said Con. “The 
county’s close, and wid a pop’lar young- 
educator—an’ a farmer, too, it might 
be done. Think of it.” 
It must be confessed that Jim was 
almost dazed at the number of “proposi- 
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