“Why Mr. Crankin—” I began.
The name roused his jealous ire, and his voice, a low mumble before, now burst into a loud roar. “Yes, Crankin makes money, has a sight o’ incubators, makes ’em himself, sells a lot, but some say they don’t act like his do when they git off his place; most on ’em seem possessed, but Crankin, he can manage ’em and makes money too.”
“Do your ducks lay much?”
“Lay! I don’t want ’em to lay! Sell ’em all out at nine weeks, ’fore the pin feathers come; then they’re good eatin’—for them as likes ’em. I’ve heard of yure old lot. Kill ’em, I say, and start new!”
“Crankin says—”
“I don’t care nothing what Crankin says” (here the voice would have filled a cathedral), “I tell ye; me and Crankin’s two different critters!”
So I felt; but it would not do to give up. I purchased an expensive incubator and brooder—needn’t have bought a brooder. I put into the incubator at a time when eggs were scarce and high priced, two hundred eggs—hens’ eggs, ducks’ eggs, goose eggs. The temperature must be kept from 102° to 104°. The lamps blazed up a little on the first day, but after that we kept the heat exactly right by daily watching and night vigils. It engrossed most of the time of four able-bodied victims.
Nothing ever was developed. The eggs were probably cooked that first day!
Now I’m vainly seeking for a purchaser for my I. and B. Terms of sale very reasonable. Great reduction from original price; shall no doubt be forced to give them away to banish painful recollections.
I also invested in turkeys, geese, and peacocks, and a pair of guinea hens to keep hawks away.