Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 February 1907 — A PAIL OF MILK [ARTICLE]

A PAIL OF MILK

John Jone* was a farmer. He was not the kind of farmer we read of In thegood old story books—honest, big hearted fellows who were supposed to be the real backbone of the country. He was more like the modern farmers —C|ose fisted, foxy old coons, who pride themselves on the sharpness of their bargains and who value humanity by the price of corn. About a mile from Farmer Jones lived another farmer named Simpson. He was not near so sharp in a bargain as Farmer Jones was and was a different sort of man altogether. Like him, however, he was a lover of cows. But by some cruel freak of irifafortune it was impossible to squeeze enough milk out of his cows to supply his own family. And yet his cows were extremely fine looking. But while Farmer Jones’ ware a marvel In the milking line, so were Farmer Simpson’s—in an opposite sense. All at once It was noticed that Farmer Simpson was oversupplied r with milk—in fact, began to rival Firmer Jones in the quantity and quality of his butter and cheese. Farmer Jones was not delighted at his neighbor’s prosperity. In sooth he was terribly vexed, not to say astonished, at it Farmer Simpson, however, made no secret of the cause of his sudden lacteal abundance. He had bought a new lot of cows, he said, among them an old brindle, and they were astonishing milkers. When he heard this, '"Farmer Jones’ mind was made up. He must have that brindle. At all events he wanted that cow. One morning when the two farmers were talking together Farmer Jones pointed carefully at old Brindle remarked: “You wouldn’t care to sell that cow, would you, Brother Simpson?” “Well, I don’t know. I might perhaps if I could get my price for her.” “What do you call her worth?” “I couldn’t sell that cow for less than $100.” “Whew! That’s a remarkable price, ain’t it?" “Well, yes, it is, but she’s a remarkable cow too. You’ve no Idea what a milker she is. I never saw her like in all the born days of my life.” «' “I've a good mind to buy her, Brother Simpson.” “But I don’t know as I’d sell hlSr to you. Brother Jones.” “Not sell her to me! Why, ain’f/we good friends?” “Yes, good friends enough, but I’ve heem you were very particular about cows, and if she didn't come up- to your idea you might think I cheated you.” “Oh, ho, don’t let that trouble you, Brother Simpson. I shan’t buy her if she ain’t worth the money. However, I’ll go home and sleep over It, and in the morning I’ll come down and talk it over.” • ••••••

“I have come over to buy that cow,” he remarked as soon as the “good mornings” were over. “But of course I don’t want to make a leap In the dark. I suppose you have no objection to answering honestly any question I may put about old Brindle?” f “Oh, certainly not—certainly not,” was the candid response. “If you really intend to buy the cow, I want you to ask every question you can think of, so that everything shall be fair and square. She Is a fine cow, Brother Jones—a remarkable cow.” So he asked, “Does she give good milk?” “Well, I reckon she does—the sweetest and richest milk I ever tasted; makes butter yellow as gold and sweet as a posy. Want to see some of It?” “No; never mind now. I’ll take your word for it But how much does she give at a milking?” . “Well, she varies from a pati to a pail and a half—never less than a pall and sometimes more. One morning she gave more than two pails, but that was when she wasn’t half milked the night before. But she is sure of a pailful every time.” That was enough. A pailful at a milking was the average his own cows gave, and he thought old Brindle might improve under his treatment. So the bargain was struck, the money was paid, and Farmer Jones went home rejoicing in his good fortune. At the end of a week his rejoicing began to cool; in a fortnight it ceased altogether; at -the end of three weeks he was almost raving mad. On the twentieth morning after he drove that old brlndle home Farmer Jones appeared before Farmer Simpson in a towering passion. “I have come to talk about that old cow,” he exclaimed. “You swindled me disgracefully in that bargain, sir." “Swindled you! Why, how? Don’t the cow give good milk?” “Give good milk! Yes, she gives good milk enough, but she don’t give enough to drown a mosquito. You said she gave a pailful every time£ “And so she did, sir, when I had her. Filled a pail brimming full twice a day and sometimes more.” “And, pray, how large a pail was It?” “Why, a three quart pall, of course! Same as I always use.” “The deuce take your three quart pall!” And, turning on his heel, Farmer Jones walked away, a sadder, madder and a wiser man. Since then, if any one wants to see anything more dangerous than a nest of hornets, he has only to ask John Jones “how large the pail was.”—New York News.

Two Coats of Color. > Lady’s Maid—What do you say to ®y mistress’ portrait? Footman—H’m! Not content with painting herself, she also lets herself be painted by others.—Wiener Kleinerwltzblatt