"Rain," I suggested, after a long pause.
"Yes, rain, of course," said the originator of Buff Brahmas, "but nitrogen, too. And where do we get nitrogen?"
"It comes from Chile, or Honduras, or some place down that way, doesn't it?" I hazarded.
"No, sir," said the starting judge of races. "Up here in Putnam County we get it right out of the air. That's what green fertilizer does—just brings it right out of the air."
And he reached up and clutched something, as if he was going to bring some down himself and show it to me. Instead, he let the gas drift away and pointed to a farm just across the road from the post-office.
"Do you see that farm over there?"
I nodded.
"Well, that man took my advice and he got 440 bushels of potatoes on two acres."
I tried to think just how far 440 bushels of potatoes might stretch if French fried and placed end to end. It was beyond me.
"That's a lot of potatoes," I murmured.