A DEAL IN COTTON.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2431, 20 February 1909, Page 12 (Supplement)

A DEAL IN COTTON.

“Day larter to-morrow,” said Uncle Peter to his wife, “this here town —”

“Call this mark in the mud a town?” she interrupted, scornfully. “It’s uoin ’to be a town,” retorted the old man, firmly. “I seed the auktioneer hisself yesterday an’ lie said the management was igoin’ to bring in three kyar loads of rich Yankees from Boston an’ sell off buildin’ lots to ’em—”

“How they sure they kin make them Yankees buy the lots?” she questioned,, shrewdly'. “This boom town business done been overdone in North Georgy. It’s easy to fetch folks here—specially when you pay all their expensements, but you kairi’t certify they igoin’ to spend their money here jest cause that iauktioncer liolp fix up a fine map an’ lease tliars a hotel with a Hag floatin’ on top.” “Oh. well,” he said impatiently, “ ’t-ain’t nothin’ to we-uns whether they sell or not. What’s hurrin’ is that the roads is goin’ to be overflowin’ with fat money wallets an’ we-all ain’t got nary thing to sell ’em ! An’ tliars the ikunnel says he’s goin’ to close the mo’gage, on that mule. I swar to goodness, Malinda, I kaint make no crop next year of he gits that mule. • An’ yet I doan see no way of savin’ her.”

“All for lack of lodols,” muttered his wife. “I wish you had some inginuity, Peter.” “What’s injinuity ?” demanded Undo Peter, superciliously. Maliridy’s superior schooling was apt to lead her into strange words. “Fixin ’up new an’ unexpected things,” explained his wife. Then she. added comfortingly, “but you ain’t got nothin’ to fix up to sell noway. Nothin’ but a half-acre patch Of cotton, an’ that ungathered.” “T mout sell them Yankees a lew hunches for buttonhole buckeets.” “You kain’t do that,” said Malindy, decidedly. “Them Smith boys got a monopoly of that. You couldn’t trot, round with cotton buckec.ts—vou’re too full o’ rheumatism.’ “So I am,” agreed Uncle Peter, wearily. He wandered out into the sunnv yard and sat by the beehives thinking, thinking. Perhaps the bees would help him to arrange the “onexpocted.” To and fro in the mellow sunshine thev darted. One busy fellow, on his way home, swooped under the big sunflower at the gate, then paused a moment to buzz confidently in Peter s car. Malindy, watching the bee, always declared that the winged hone\ bearer ivas entitled to the honoi of the idea that made Peter suddenly spring up and ask his wife ticiublineiv :

“Ml’ndv —how much do them Yankees know about cotton?”

“Not-bin’,” said the wife, scornfully: “lest nothin’! They kain’t grow it in their country. They don’t export nothin’ but leather an’ she paused a moment, then added firmly, “an’ polar bears —lor shows and sich. Uncle Peter smote- his thigh exultantly’. “Then I’ve done fixed up a injinuity fer ’em! Gimme that last dollar out’n the sock. I got to go to ther store.”

The' next day was very hot. 'The occupants of the Pullman cars speeding toward Iv hung fretfully at the windows. The women of the party dabbed cologne recklessly over their faces. That night they slept in C , the nearest city to the boom town. In the morning, still hot and fretful, they took the local train for K . '

The lot- sale was a miserable failure. The supposed purchasers were under no cont •*. :t to buy' unless they' liked the locality. They didn’t like it. The auctioneer determined to hold a second sale the following day, and so that evening the very new hotel, smelling weirdly of paint, was gayly lighted. Just before the G o’clock dinner eight or ten members of the party came in from * mysterious expedition, laughing and talking. They' had made a great discovery 7, they' said, by the aid of an old nat-ivo named Peter? After dinner they would show it to the whole crowd.

“Somcliting really. romantic,” observed a fat hanker, whom no one would have supposed could take an interest in anything but realism, “one of the most exquisite sights I ever saw. Yaluable, too. The old fellow has m> conception of wliat ho has originated. I offered, him a dollar -a pound for all the seed he could send me from that field and he jumped at the chance.” “Seed. It must be flowers, ' cued a merchant’s pretty wife. The ban; kcr merely laughed and shook Ins head.

By 8 o’clock Uncle PeterV single wagon, with Jenny, the white mule, was -leading the opulent procession of capitalists in all sorts of vehicles. Uncle Peter’s heart was beating oxnl-

tantly to the rattle to bang of liis damaged old wagon, but no one would have suspected, his joy from his composed face.

On they went, along the wide country road, now brilliant with a glowing southern moon.

Then Uncle Peter turned into a rough side road, darkened with overhanging trees, and the procession followed him. Darker and darker gre wthc way, and vigorous bumps were frequent. But when the leading .wagon passed suddenly into a wide pool of moonlight, the party felt .core than repaid. For there in the white light lay Uncle Peter’s half-acre, cotton patch, fringed by gloomy pines that threw striking shadows in the'corners of the old rail fence.

The patch itself was in the fidl splendor of tho moon. And such a cotton patch! The sturdy green plants supported. Instead of the usual white bolls, fluffy bunches of the most wonderful colors. There a line of bursting bolls gleamed yellow ha gold; hero, as foil, grow rows of exquisite, pale-blue fleeces. Blue and .gold—gold and blue—in the heart of the glistening leaves! The ladies 'flung themselves, into the midst of it all with little shrieks of delight. It was like fairy land, this quiet place of loveliness with the silveways flooding down.

“Oh, may we each gather a they cried. “Ten bolls fer a cfollar —an’ pick ’em yourself,” said Uncle Peter, very kindly. Then he turned to an interested man.

“Yes, sub, if I do say it, this here’s tho only varigated cotton you’ll find anywhere, flow’d I grow ’em that way? That’s a secret, major—a secret'of vegetashun. Look how far back the color runs.” Ho tore a golden boll to pieces, showing the very heart of it to be yellow.

“They are. not all colored so deeply in the calyx,” .observed one of the ladies. “Sec this is just partly blue.”

“I know it,” said Peter, easily. “You sec, before they come full color they come part-colored. Yaricgation is a law of natur’.”

“What an intelligent old fellow,” murmured the lady, as she went back to her fleece gathering. “He'll be a j second Burbank one of these days.” When the eager spoilers were safely \ on their way to the hotel, a tall, gaunt figure, robed in a calico gown, splashed with blue and yellow, came out of the pine shadows and executed a sort of ghostly dance there alone.

She stopped suddenly. “Lord, but my back does ache,” she gasped, though she laughed as sho spoke. “It’s goin’ to take me a week to git the kinks out o’ it. artcr stoopin’ over all them plants with them buckets of dye. Lucky llie cotton soaked it up so well that lie had only to souse the heads in onet. An it couldn’t stick to them slick stems an’ leaves, to tell tales.’’ Jenny still does Peter’s plowing. But the banker met with a surprise when the cotton seed, planted on his beautiful Carolina country place", exhibited the usual white bolls. “I believe,” lie said to his wile,

“that, that innocent-looking old country man hoaxed us about that cotton.”

“AVhat an idea!” exclaimed Mrs Banker, resentfully. “I declare. Henry, you are always trying to analyse things. I’ve no doubt' your stupid old gardener planted that seed in the wrong kind of ground—or perhaps upside down!”