Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 167, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1913 — BURT MADE GOOD [ARTICLE]

BURT MADE GOOD

'Both Surprised and Pleased His Father, Who Paved Way to Success: i By N. J. COf-rON. “Well, Burt, 1 have a chance for you tto make good at last. Slim, perhaps, but a chance, nevertheless. If you have any mettle now is your chance to show it.” Burt Sloan was hot exactly a success from a business standpoint. Too much leisure an 4 money had smothered any aptitude he had ever shown In that line.' The irritation and utter lack of confidence or pride in his son showed in the elder Sloane’s tones and nettled the younger man. “All right, dad, I’m on any time you say. You’ve never trusted me with anything worth considering, so how could I make good?” “You've shown no great inclination for business in any form,” continued the elder Sloan in a milder tone, “but that’s not here or there. The point is, will you undertake this matter?” “Sure, dad, if it’s anything within reason. Drive ahead; let’s hear the details. The elder Sloan deliberated an instant as if arranging his thoughts in tangible form, then began: “It cancerns our business and our rivals, the United people. It seems that up in northern Vermont the cream separator is not looked upon with special favor. Through ignorance of its value the farmers are prejudiced and tenaciously cling to oldtime methods. “Recently the United people have landed in one of those back towns and have sold several machines. When tnose shrewd, htyd-headed farmers learn the full value the separator, they will begin to buy, and we want to be in at the harvest. “Our objective point is G. Not a machine is owned in that town, and living there is a well-to-do farmer, William Holden by name, very Influential but obstinate as a mule. If we can sell him an Harpies, his neighbors will follow suit like a flock of sheep, and as news spreads like ticks we can cover the whole country, providing we can get ahead of! the United crowd by nailing Holden. “Gleason, our man, has tackled him and got downed, and so was Upham of the Uniteds. It’s a stiff proposition, my son, but I’ve got confidence in your ability if the incentive is strong enough. I think your pride will help in this. Will you try.” “You bet I will, dad, and glad of the chance. I’ll get a Harpies into Bill Holden’s house if I have to make him a present of it and stay and run it.” “Good, my son; go ahead and win, and luck to you.” On sober thought Burt realized he was up against it good and hard. A new man attempting what old experienced men had failed at was indeed a stiff proposition. He knew that his father had given him this chance, realizing that its difficulties would apepal to his pride and ambition. And he was right. The next day Burt started for Vermont, no definite plan in view, only to sell Bill Holden a separator somehow. At the little backwoods station where he got off the train, he learned that he had to drive five miles to Holden’s farm. Hiring a team, he set out for Holden’s, if not with trepidation at least with his confidence considerably abated. No inspiration came to him as he jogged along the dustry country road, and as his courage was getting near zero he was glad when a small boy he accosted for information told him the next place was Holden’s. The first thing he noticed when he got in sight of the house was a big sign by the roadside, PIGS FOR SALE, INQUIRE AT HOLDEN’S. * It was then that his plan came to a head. A big, tall, raw-boned man was f&wing wood in the front yard when Burt drove up. Burt stopped and waited until he had finished the stick, expecting he would stop and speak, but nothing of the kind occurred. He deliberately put up another stick on the sawhorse and went on with his sawing. Burt waited patiently, in some amusement, until he had finished his second stick; then he spoke: “Pretty busy, are you?" “Yas,” briefly replied the sawyer without looking up, and immediately began on the third stick. This finished, Burt broke in again: “Have you time to tell me where 1 can find Mr. Holden?” “Right here sawing wood,” and the fourth was begun. Burt calmly waited until it was fidished. This time Holden spoke first. “You can go right along, Mister. Don’t want any separators, apple trees, horse liniment, physic, or corn plasters;” and stick number five was be4_un and finished in silence. The situation was unchanged when stick number six was placed on the horse, and Mr. Holden grudgingly observed, “You here yit? What in dumration do you want? Be ye an undertaker waiting for my funeral, cause if ye sir you’ better move on, cause I’m considerable healthy yit?” “Why,” said Burt calmly, “I Just called to see if you bad auy pigs to sell” “Pigs ter sell,” exclaimed the aston-f-b<d iotden, throwing down the saw and whirling on Burt like a sash. “Jumping jehosephat! pigs for sale, vhy .vs got more pigs than some men have whiskers, and I’ll be blamed it l can sell one. Everyone’s got pigs

here, the town has run ter pigs,, and nobody can 6ell a pesky one. I’ve offered mine fer a dollar apiece and no takers. I was just making up my mind ter go kill the whole lot when you came along.” . “Well, Mr. Holden, pigs is what I want.” “Wal, by crimus! pigs is what you shall have. You’re the first angel I ever saw In pants, but if you take them pigs off my hands I’ll swear you air one frum here tew Canada line.” After looking the pigs over, Burt said: “Now, Mr. Holden, this is my proposition. If you will crate twenty pigs and land them at the nearest freight Btation I’ll pay you two dollars apiece, cash down, for them* What do you say?” “Say? Why, thunderatton! take ’em, and take ’em quick, ’fore I wake up and find it’s a nightmare.” The next day Burt was back home. “What luck?” anxiously questioned his father. “Bought twenty nice pigs of old Holden.” “Pigs,” exploded the elder Sloan. “What the devil —, I didn’t send you up there to buy pigs, but to sell separators.” “Do you happen to know, Dad,” went on Burt calmly, “what pigs are worth here?” “No,” snapped the old* gentleman, “but If they are worth as much as fools, you have a corner on the market.” Burt grinned and departed, wafting back, “Better luck next time, dad; in the meanwhile pork is going up with fools.” By a little judicious canvassing Burt learned that pigs were very scarce In the outlying districts, and he had no difficulty in disposing of his twenty pigs before they arrived at $3.50 apiece. The next week saw Burt back in G. on the road to Holden’s with a brand new Harpies separator In the wagon, j Holden met him at the door, his mouth wide open in astonishment, but eying the separator suspiciously. “Want some more pigs?” he grinned sheepishly. "didn’t' you say those sows were to have another litter apiece this fall?” “Yas, I expect they be.” “Well, then, I want to set this separator in for you to use until the pigs come along. If you like it, why you can pay me with the pigs. If you don’t, I’ll take it back and buy the pigs just the same, for $2.60 each.” Holden revolved the proposition J over in his mind dubiously for several minutes, but as he could see no way that he could he the loser, he finally said, “I dunno, I never run one of ther blamed things, and don’t 'believe they’re worth a tinker’s dam.” Then Burt drove in the convincing wedge. “I’ll tell you what I’l! do, Mr. Holden. I’m a little out of health owing to rush of business, and I’ll stay here for a week or two and help you get - the run of the machine, and pay you five dollars per week for my board.” “Gosh all hemlock! Yew don’t mean it, dew yew?” stated the astonished farmer. “Sure I do. Is it a bargain?” “I dunno; guess I’ll go ask Mandy.”_ Mandy’s answer must have been sudden and convincing, for Holden came hurrying back and said, “Unload her.” The horse stabled, they went inside for supper, and there Burt Sloan met lovely, modest, capable Bessie Holden —a gem in a rough setting. At the end of two weeks Holden was singing the praises of the Harpies separator all over town, and Burt, to himself, was singing the praises of shy, demure Bessie Holden. Then Burt got busy; as fast as they could ship separators from the factory he swapped them for pigs, then sold the pigs at an advance. Later he brought Bessie home with him and presented her to his father. “Have I made good?” he quizzically inquired. “Yes, my lad. In more ways than one,” he replied, as his eyes rested on the sweet, blushing face before him. Up In northern Vermont to this day Burt Sloan, the Harpies premier ageat, is known as the pig man. (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)