“Well, corn's our staple crop. You see, if you raise corn enough you're sure of feed for your team. That's the main point.”
“But people with bigger farms than they have around here can raise corn cheaper than we can. They use machinery in harvesting it, too. Why not raise a better paying crop, and buy the extra corn you may need?”
“Why,” responded Henry, shaking his head, “nobody around here knows much about raising fancy crops. I read about 'em in the farm papers—oh, yes, we take papers—the cheap ones. There is a lot of information in 'em, I guess; but father don't believe much that's printed.”
“Doesn't believe much that's printed?” repeated Hiram, curiously.
“Nope. He says it's all lies, made up out of some man's head. You see, we useter take books out of the Sunday School library, and we had story papers, too; and father used to read 'em as much as anybody.”
“But one summer we had a summer boarder—a man that wrote things. He had one of these dinky little merchines with him that you play on like a piano, you know——”
“A typewriter?” suggested Hiram, with a smile.
“Yep. Well, he wrote stories. Father learnt as how all that stuff was just imaginary, and so he don't take no stock in printed stuff any more.”
“That man just sat down at that merchine, and rattled off a story that he got real money for. It didn't have to be true at all.
“So father soured on it. And he says the stuff in the farm papers is just the same.”