Last Chapter: Uncle Ernest died in 1931. As Executor, I went through all his effects. Away back behind everything, I found a dusty Indiana National Bank canvas sack once used to express silver dollars and fractional silver coins. It was full of envelopes about the size of a two-thirds grown postal card, all addressed in the same handwriting, and all tied up in packages with grocer's soft white twine. I didn't know the handwriting, but eventually caught the full signature. I hadn't tried to read the letters—just sifted through them to make sure the envelopes contained only letters. Shortly, I came to one, the opening sentence of which caught my eye: "I am terribly lonesome tonight, Dear."
I quit reading. They weren't intended for Executors. I took off my glasses and sifted all the remaining letters one by one into a handy banana hamper. Some had snapshots in them. I took everything out and burned it. Somehow, I felt pretty bad. . . As ever, "Pap"
THE HAY AND FEED RACKET
April 19, 1944
Dear Sarah Jane: . . . While we're on the "racket" subject, I think I have partially solved the "hay and feed racket" at the Indianapolis Stock Yards. We trucked the heifers to Indpls. Sunday afternoon. The buyers (a commission firm) insisted they get there the evening before—"to rest, get a good fill and good weight next morning, and be ready to be re-loaded alive in stock cars to go to New York." I've been skeptical about ever coming out even on a feed and hay bill. . . I had too bad a cold to go up Sunday afternoon in one of the trucks and stay overnight, so I got up Monday morning at 4 a.m., and got to the Yards. I found the cattle and just about stayed with them until it was all over. Eventually the hay wagon came along. They threw out two bales for our cattle and then distributed them in the hay racks. I watched the cattle. They weren't eating any of the hay, just none at all. It was timothy. They were used to alfalfa. . . The bell rang and trading started. Buyers came and went. Our heifers were better than any I saw. Kingan's (Indpls. local packer) man bought them. He had been out to the farm to see them two weeks before. I got more than he offered me out there. I marched along to the scales, counted, and saw them weighed. My bill, among other things, read: "400 lb. Hay@ 1.45 = $5.80". The two bales they threw out for us would total not more than 120 to 130 lb. Timothy hay delivered in Indpls. would not run over $20 per ton. They figured ours at $29 per ton, as shown above. The heifers didn't eat a quarter's worth all told.
However, there are worlds of straight people. Witness Ira, for instance; the Hazlett Brothers, who started with a boot and shoe and now can get about any amount they want at staid, old, conservative, dependable Russellville Bank, the bank that only guarantees its own depositors; Mr. Whitaker at the filling station here; and thousands of others, who, like kitchen utensils at farm sales, are too numerous to mention. . . "Pap"
PATRIOTS DEBATE—THE BALLOT OR THE BOTTLE?
April 19, 1944
My dear Margaret: Munny is on one of her many pilgrimages to Milford under disguise of most urgent business. I had seen it coming on, and the final break was made when I was called to Indianapolis by the railroads for the Special Session. She left the day after I did. This time she thought she would go by coach, paying her own fare, because in this emergency I have refused to ask for passes. The day I left she told me her intentions, and knowing how trains are crowded, next day I went to the station at Indianapolis to see how she was faring. I found her standing, and she had been standing all the way to Indianapolis and was bedraggled already, and with only about one-twenty-fifth of her journey completed. . . We got back to the Pullman conductor, stated our troubles, and he made the usual reply: "I have just one lower to New York, and she can have that". . . The coaches and aisles were crowded with soldiers, sailors, baggage, dirty newspapers, pop bottles, paper cups, lunch boxes and kids . . . and the last I saw of that day's first section of No. 12, the conductor was shepherding her back through the Pullmans . . . .
The Special Session brought out a holocaust of patriotism—if I am using the right term. The purpose was to make it possible for the members of "our armed forces" to vote next Fall. Each member tried to out-do the others. The two chambers and the corridors rang with zealousness in the interest of "our armed forces" getting the ballot. Those not running this Fall and the hold-over Senators were less voluble, but in the House, where everybody had to run this Fall, or else stay out, the rafters went off center from 7 to 9 inches. I haven't seen such valiant patriotism in a legislative body since the last war, when I was in it and up for re-election. I don't remember my conduct, but I expect it was pretty patriotic. I do remember I introduced a resolution in the House commending Wilson and the Congress for breaking off relations with Germany, so I evidently had my lightning rod up pretty high. . .