Drippings From the Fawcett
Out on Rural Route No. 2 we haven’t much class, as the saying goes, but we have a lot of fun. We haven’t any bright lights, although the folks about the country have thought so liberally of my little bundle of bunk lately that I have been able to put in a small farm lighting plant in the Whiz Bang house, barn and yard.
Not many Minnesota farmers can afford, in these low-wheat-price days, such a luxury as an electric lighting plant, and so the one put in at the Whiz Bang farm created quite an interest.
Gus, our hired man, thought it would be a good idea to have a sort of celebration over the new electric lights. The idea met with instant approval from Mrs. Bill and the kids. The next question was how to celebrate the great event. Gus suggested a “snoose” party, but as not all of my neighbors chew the Copenhagen breakfast food, his suggestion received a cool reception, particularly from Mrs. Bill, who dislikes the habit. It was left to my twelve-year-old daughter to solve the problem, later in the day, when I discovered her in the loft of the old red barn practicing toe dancing. This suggested to my mind a dancing party.
And so we gave the party. I wired the hay loft with electric lights and dumped a pail full of oatmeal on the floor to make it slippery. We picked Gus as the dance master, and here was his predominating action for the evening:
On a balmy night, when the weather’s clear,
The boys and girls from far and near;
We’ll congregate on the Whiz Bang farm,