Hidden Treasure: The Story of a Chore Boy Who Made the Old Farm Pay

by John Thomas Simpson

XI

TONY

"Good morning, son—is your uncle around?" inquired Mr. Brady, the following Monday morning as Bob was getting ready to start work digging the trench for the new water supply.

"He's in the woodshed now," replied Bob, "but he'll be out here in a few minutes."

"How do you like the ditch, son?"

"It's a fine job, Mr. Brady," replied Bob. "When are you going to put in the cement drain tile?"

"They ought to be here to-day and it won't take long to put them in, once they're here. The digging's all done already. I've a lot of men coming to-morrow, and I'll make a short job of that and the building of the dam. What I wanted to see your uncle about was, when's he going to put a man on at the gravel pit so we can start taking gravel away. We'll have to screen some sand for face work, but in most cases I expect to use the sand and gravel together, just as it comes from the pit."

"Won't you have to measure it out," asked Bob, "to get the right aggregate?"

"In most cases we would, son," answered the contractor, "but your pit is running just about right—twice as much gravel as sand, which makes a very good concrete, so as soon as we get through with the steam shovel at the dam I want to put it up in the pit and start my trucks hauling sand to the railroad bridges. The engineer tells me he'll be ready for me with his lines by the end of the week.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Williams!" said the contractor, as Bob's uncle approached. "How about the man to take care of the tickets at the sand pit?"

"By George, I forgot all about that!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Brady. I was pretty busy last week with getting married and everything and forgot all about the man. That reminds me, John White was speaking to me about a man the other day for some light work on the farm, but if I can't locate one within, a day or two, I'll let you put one of your men on."

"All right. I want to begin taking sand away by Monday at the latest," said the contractor. "Some activities, Mr. Williams, you're having around here, what with the steam shovel working in the ditch and a tractor plow working in the fields. We've had about everybody in the county stopping here within the last week inquiring what's going on. I've had a lot of fun out of it, too," he laughed.

"How's that?" inquired Joe Williams.

"Well," said the contractor, winking at Bob, "I told everybody who asked that we were digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and do you know, some of them believed me."

"That's right," said Bob, "we are digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and what's more, Mr. Brady, we're finding it."

"I think if I were to stay around with you very long, sonny, you'd be after making me believe the moon was made of green cheese, as they say in Ireland, but with you charging me fifty cents a yard for sand, I know you're making money all right. But you're wasting your time here on the farm, me boy—it's a contractor you should be."

"I don't agree with you, Mr. Brady. I think farming is the best of all. Building is interesting, of course, but planting crops and raising cattle and seeing things grow is the most interesting thing in the world to me, and I'm going to be a farmer. I like to hear the birds sing while I'm working."

"Oh, but we've birds singing in the contracting business, too, for what's sweeter music to the ear than the puffing of a hoisting engine, or the rattling of the chains of a steam shovel? Music is music the world over—it's only a matter of education the kind we enjoy most. Now, to me, the escaping steam is the sweetest music I know, for it means dollars to me; but I must be looking after me work instead of standing here blarneying with you all the morning."

"I wish we had your men to dig our trench for the new water supply,
Brady," said Joe Williams.

"How deep do you want it?" asked the contractor.

"About four feet. I guess that's the depth you wanted to make it,
Bob?" he asked turning to his nephew.

"Yes, Uncle Joe," he replied.

"Say, Williams, you're wasting time and good muscle digging that trench. Let me dig it for you in two days."

"What—in two days!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You surely couldn't use your steam shovel for that job, it would be too big and heavy."

"I'll be using no steam shovel, Williams," said the contractor. "I'll use dynamite."

"Why, how could you do that?" asked Bob, interested at once.

"Sure, my boy, there's many easier ways than digging a trench with a pick and shovel. I have some dynamite in town now that would be just the thing to blast out your trench. Of course, it will scatter the dirt around some, for dynamite is usually used to make an open ditch rather than one that is to be re-filled, but it will be less work to gather up the dirt than to dig through the hard shale, and that reminds me," he continued, "when you come to put in your concrete fence posts, don't break your back digging holes if you strike hard shale; just put in a stick of dynamite and loosen her up—you'll find it will save you lots of backaches."

"How much would it cost, Brady?" asked Joe Williams much interested. "Let me see," said the contractor. "You, say it's about 1400 feet long and four feet deep. That will mean putting down 470 holes, three feet six inches deep, and require 360 pounds of dynamite."

He figured for a moment on a memorandum pad and added:

"I'll do the whole job for $100.00, which is about one-fourth of what it will cost you to open up the ditch, and I'll complete it in two days. You may have to level off the bottom of the trench here and there for the pipe, but at that it will be easier than digging the entire trench."

"All right, Brady," said Joe Williams; "when will you start?"

"To-morrow morning," said the contractor. "I'll get the dynamite to- day."

"But isn't dynamite dangerous, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.

"No, son, not when it's taken care of properly. You know, you don't set your kerosene oil can on a hot stove, neither do we leave dynamite around where it is likely to be put off, but it's just as safe as gunpowder, if you handle it right. You ought to have the ground in your young orchard loosened up a bit with a few sticks. You'll be surprised to know how it will improve the production of your trees."

"Does it really improve the land, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.

"Haven't you read about that, Bob? I thought you were reading everything about farming."

[Illustration with caption: DITCH DIGGING BY DYNAMITE—ONE-HALF THE
COST—ONE-TENTH THE TIME, AND NO BACKACHE]

"I've read considerable, Mr. Brady, but never anything about dynamite, but the next time I go to town I'll stop around at the First National and ask them if they have any literature on dynamite. You know they're running a 'Constructive Bank' now and distribute literature to the farmers, and I'm sure John White will have the information."

"That's right, my boy, find out all about it first, and then you'll know the reason for using it, and how to apply it. Well, I must be going. I'll take care of the job to-morrow. Good day, Mr. Williams; good-by, son," he said, as he turned and strode down the hill toward the new drive where the steam shovel was making fast inroads into the remaining bank.

"There's one thing I like about Brady, Uncle Joe," said Bob, as they watched him disappear. "He does things quickly and he does them well. Did you notice how straight and even the slope of the two sides of the ditch were made, and how he leveled off the north bank on top?"

"Well, Bob, you know I always like a straight furrow myself," replied his uncle, "and have always claimed that there isn't a man in the county can plow a straighter one."

"And there won't be a man in the county next year, Uncle Joe, who can plow a faster one than you," laughed Bob, "when you get your new tractor going."

"That certainly was a great piece of work," said his uncle, looking admiringly at the ploughed fields, "but where can we get a man to look after the sand pit, Bob? Why not let Brady put on one of his men and settle it?"

"Don't you think we ought to have a man of our own, Uncle Joe, rather than take one of his? No doubt, Brady's honest, but he's human. Suppose he'd forget once in a while to give us some tickets."

"Oh, well, we wouldn't miss a load or two of sand."

"No," said Bob, "but it might get to be a habit with him, and you know, according to Aunt Bettie's figures, the sand is going to help a lot in getting our loan paid off quickly at the bank."

"Well, the next time I go to town, I'll see who I can find," he replied.

"You know, Uncle Joe, if we had a telephone we could call up this morning and probably have a man out here by noon. Don't you think Aunt Bettie was right in wanting to have a 'phone?"

"Oh, that's been taken care of," said his uncle. "I told Bettie to go ahead and have it put in. I thought it would be nice to be able to call up our friends in town and talk to them on rainy days and Sundays when we didn't want to drive in. Besides, as you say, it will be useful at times to save trips."

They spent the morning repairing the fences, which, under their persistent work, were beginning to look like real fences again.

There was one thing about Joe Williams—whatever he did, he did thoroughly, and the undergrowth was cut from both sides, heaped into piles and burned.

"Do you know, Uncle Joe, if we had wire fences, on concrete posts, we'd never have any work like this to do each spring. The plows would keep the sides clean. Think of what it would mean, Uncle Joe, to get rid of fence rows and repairing old rail fences. Then there's the wasted land that the fence takes up; that's a dead loss."

"Yes, I can easily see that," replied his uncle. "Bettie was talking about that last night."

They had worked all morning and were on their way to the house to dinner when they saw a man coming across the fields toward them. He came from the direction of the farm above, and as he approached they saw he was a youthful foreign-looking chap—probably an Italian and not more than twenty or twenty-one years old. He carried a bundle at the end of a stout stick thrown across his shoulder, and when he had gotten within speaking distance, he called:

"Good-a morn! Do you need-a da mase or-a da carpendero to do-a da work?"

"Oh, you're one of the plumber's men?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps his aunt might have asked to have some men sent out to work on the new cellar under the washroom where the hot-water heater was to go.

"No, I no-a da plumb. I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

"Oh, you want a job?" asked Bob, catching his meaning.

"Yes-a, da job, but no-a work-a da field. I no-a da farmer—I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

Bob exchanged glances with his uncle, who shook his head.

"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly turning to the applicant.

"Tony."

"What do you say, Uncle Joe, if we have Tony go down to the house with us and talk the matter over with Aunt Bettie? He might be the man we could use at the sand pit. Besides," he added suddenly, "he might be the very fellow to help build the dairy house—if he understands both carpentry and mason work, he would be a big help."

"How much will you work for?" asked Joe Williams, who hesitated at paying any money in wages.

"How much-a da work to do?" asked Tony.

"Oh, we've enough for a week or a month—maybe more—that's if you can do our work."

"I understand-a da work," replied Tony, "and I like-a da live in-a da country, if you no-a make-a me sleep in-a da barn."

"Where do you come from?" asked Bob.

"From Italia. My fader, he-a da contracdisto and I learn-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

"Well, why didn't you stay in Italy?" asked Bob.

"Oh," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "there no-a da mon in-a da
Italia and too-a much da hard work."

So asking questions and listening to Tony's answers the three reached the house, where Bob quickly explained the matter to his aunt. She came out and asked Tony to stay and have dinner with them. He was given a basin and towel and after he had made his toilet his appearance was decidedly improved.

"He says he doesn't want a job," remarked Joe Williams to his wife, when they were alone after dinner, "if he has to sleep in the barn."

"Well, I don't blame him," said Bettie. "What's the matter with our south room? Your father and mother are moving to town to-morrow, and you know we won't have use for all the rooms in the house. The south room has a separate stairway leading from the small sitting room on the first floor. We could give him those rooms and make him comfortable. I rather like his appearance," she added. "Of course, Italians are foreigners and they're about as awkward in our country trying to speak our language as we would be if we were in their country trying to speak Italian. How much does he want to work for us?"

"He didn't say, but I'll ask him," and they adjourned to the porch.

"How much money would you want, Tony?" asked Joe Williams, "to work for us, say by the month?"

"Where I-a da sleep?" asked Tony quickly.

"In that room up there on the second floor, at the end of the porch."

"And where I-a da eat?" he asked again.

"Why, with us, of course," said Joe Williams.

"Then I stay-a da mont and do-a da work, and when I get-a da through, we make-a da barg. If you like-a my work and I like-a da place, then I stay, but if you no-a like me and I no-a like you, then I go."

"All right," laughed Joe Williams, "that's a bargain, Tony. Do you want to begin work right away?"

"Yes, I no like-a da loaf," said the man, shrugging his shoulders.

"All right, come around here and I'll show you what we want done," he said and took him around behind the house, showed him where to dig out and build a new entrance to the cellar under the washroom and put in a flue for the heater.

Bob was much interested in the making of the trench for the new water system, and while his uncle went to town for the pipe and some pipe tools for laying it, Bob, at Brady's direction, plowed two deep furrows, six feet apart, outlining the two edges of the trench. He plowed each furrow a foot or more deep, so as to outline the edges of the trench and keep the top as narrow as possible. The contractor's foreman and his gang quickly drove their iron bars into the earth three feet six inches deep and about three feet apart and loaded the holes as they went. When they had fifty charges in place, the foreman connected up the battery, and when the men were out of the way he raised the rack bar of the battery to its full height and shoved it down hard. Up came the earth and a neat open trench four feet deep and one hundred and fifty feet long lay open before them.

By the time his uncle had returned, over half the length of the trench had been made and was ready for the pipe.

Dynamite certainly is a quick means for doing a hard job, thought Bob, and he immediately decided to learn more about its uses.

Bob was surprised and pleased to see how quickly and easily Tony could lay out and execute a piece of work. It was no time at all until the excavation was done, the wall was cut through for a door opening and the forms made for concrete steps to lead down into the new cellar. Fortunately, they found that the foundation went down low enough to give them the five-foot head room they needed for the hot-water heater. The hardest work was to connect the flue opening to a flue in the old chimney, which they found had been built up solid with masonry. This made it necessary to take the plaster off back of the chimney and cut a groove. Either by instinct or accident, Tony located a flue, and before the end of the week they not only had the doorway and flue completed, but had laid a cement floor on the cellar as well. Tony showed Bob how to mix the concrete and put it in place so as to get a smooth surface, and explained why it was necessary, in building steps and other concrete work, that it should all be put in at one time and smoothed off as soon as it became sufficiently hard so it would not crack.

The morning after Tony's arrival, Bob's grandparents said good-by to the old homestead and were taken in the auto to town. Bob's uncle drove the car, and, as it got under way, Bob overheard his grandmother remark:

"Too many new-fangled notions, Joe. You'll surely go to the poorhouse before you're through."

"All right, mother," he laughingly replied. "If we do, we'll go on rubber tires and perhaps over concrete, and the road won't seem so rough."

Thomas Williams and his wife had spent their entire lives in the country and moving to town did not mean for them a regular town house and lot, they'd be too cramped to end their days that way. They had purchased a comfortable house, surrounded by a four-acre garden and orchard, all in good repair, and here, as compared with the farm, the work would be light indeed.

After making his parents comfortable in their new home, Joe Williams drove out to meet his new purchases, which were being delivered that day. He met the cavalcade two miles out and accompanied them home.

[Illustration: ONE-HALF THE HERD, HE WILL EARN HIS INITIAL COST IN
THREE YEARS]

"Looks like a circus parade, Aunt Bettie," declared Bob, as they stood on the hill back of the barn and saw them winding up the lane. First came the team of black Belgian mares, then the ten Holstein cows, with the bull leading his herd, then a wagon with the five Berkshire sows in a pen, on top of which were the incubator and brooder, and on top of these again the coops with the white leghorn and white rock chickens. Then came another wagon with the bee hives, and following this the small flock of Southdown sheep, looked after by a fine collie dog, and last of all came Joe Williams in his new auto, smiling like the king he felt himself to be.

It was an impressive sight to see this procession of fine-blooded stock arrive at the farm, and the eyes of both Bob and his aunt were glistening when they looked at each other as the procession came up the new road into the barnyard.

"Well, what do you think of them, Bettie?" called her husband, jumping from his auto and kissing her. "Almost like a circus procession. Hey, Bob, show them where you want your bees. Better take them right over to the orchard and set them up where you intend to keep them this summer."

"I've got a place already fixed for them," he replied. Then as Tony came near he called, "Do you understand how to talk to Italian bees, Tony?"

"Yes, I know-a da bees and-a da bees know-a me—no-a sting," said
Tony.

"All right," said Bob, "come with us," and they climbed up on the wagon and drove across the meadow to the new apiary.

They placed the hives on the cinder foundation Bob had made for them under the trees and when they were all placed they looked very attractive in their white paint.

"I'm sorry I didn't buy them myself," said the driver of the wagon, who had been a farm hand for the former owner. "They're the greatest honey-makers I ever saw. But I didn't have any place to take them, so I had to let them go. You're a lucky boy—you got them for a song, but do you know how to handle them?" he inquired. "You'll have to look out for them now very carefully, or you may lose them. The spring is the time they require watching so they don't starve."

"I've been reading up a lot about them," said Bob. "But what's in that box?" he asked, as the driver unloaded his last piece—a large box like a tool chest.

"These are your things for handling them, Bob—a smoker, a veil, some tools and a lot of extra parts and things. If you want me to, I'll come out the first nice warm day and help you look them over. I'm not afraid of them. Call up my sister on the 'phone, 770, and tell her when you want me. My name's John Adams."

"Yes, I will," said Bob, "and I'll pay you for your time, too, for while I've read some, I've had no actual experience with bees."

"Well, to-night, after sundown, take the blocks from the entrance and let them fly around in the morning. You may lose a colony or two until you learn how to handle them, but you needn't worry; they're good breeders and will soon make up for that—but be sure and keep the hives cool in hot weather, then they won't swarm so quickly."

When they got back to the house all the new cattle and other stock had been put away, and the men were ready to return home. That night before setting the new chickens at liberty, Bob caught and killed the two remaining Dunghill roosters.

It was a tired but happy family that went to bed at ten o'clock that night, instead of the regular hour of nine.

It seemed to Bob that he had just closed his eyes when bedlam broke loose. His first thought was of the new stock, then of the dynamite, but as he sat up in bed he realized it could not be either of them— so, throwing up his window, he looked out.

In the moonlight he could distinguish many of their neighbors, who were armed with everything from sleigh bells to horse fiddles, and the racket they made in the stillness of the night seemed greater than any noise he had ever heard. As he raised his window, a shout went up, the neighbors thinking it was Bob's uncle, but seeing their mistake they redoubled their efforts and kept the racket going for a half hour or more. Then his aunt and uncle appeared, and invited the party into the house, where the lamps were already lighted.

Congratulations were extended, a hasty lunch was set out, the cider barrel tapped and a general good time enjoyed for an hour or more.

Many of the boys had been former pupils of the bride and they were happy that she had chosen to come and live among them.

Joe Williams disappeared for a moment and when he returned he carried a large bottle of wine with a long blue ribbon tied to it.

"Boys," he said, when the cheering had stopped, "you all know that with the exception of cider, I never drink anything."

"Oh, don't let that worry you, Joe, we're not so modest," they shouted, but he only held up his hand for silence.

"This bottle of wine was given to us by a very good friend for a certain purpose. We had intended to wait until later to use it, but I don't know any better time than just now, when our friends are all here to carry out our plans, so come out into the yard a moment," and they all adjourned to the front yard.

Here Joe Williams and his bride stepped over to a young apple tree and handing her the bottle, he tied the ribbon to a limb.

"Now, boys, Bettie and I've decided to give our farm a name and sell our produce under that name—a sort of a trade-mark or standard of merit, so now while you're all here, we'll perform the ceremony."

Taking the bottle firmly in both hands, the bride stepped back, stretching the ribbon tight, then with a light shining in her eyes that was not a reflection of the moon, she called in a clear voice, "I christen you 'Brookside Farm,'" and sent the bottle crashing against the tree amid the cheers of the crowd.

When silence had been partly restored, a man was seen mounting the steps of the porch, and holding a stout stick in his hand, he placed one end of the stick against his lips and there floated out upon the stillness of the night the old familiar air, "Home, Sweet Home." When he had finished there were many shining eyes in the crowd, but only Bob recognized in the disappearing figure his new friend Tony, whose natural artistic nature had been responsible for such a fitting tribute.

When the boys had all gone home, Bob's aunt called him to the kitchen.

"Take this up to Tony and thank him for me for the very fine touch he added to our ceremony," and she handed him a plate heaped high with cake, alongside of which his uncle set a large goblet of their rare old elder-berry wine—a mark of distinction conferred by his uncle only upon honored guests.