Chapter III
The Young Fur Farmer
“Skunks!” repeated Tubby, with a gasp of surprise, “do you really mean to tell me you’re raising a colony of those horrible critters around here, Ralph,” and at that he commenced to sniff the pure atmosphere most suspiciously, in a manner to make some of the others laugh uproarously.
“Wait and see later on,” was all the information Ralph Jeffords would offer, as they turned in through an open gateway, and motored up a winding drive that led to the rambling farmhouse.
The boys were immediately impressed with the air of neatness that seemed to be a leading feature at the Jeffords farm. Evidently, the farmer was not only a man of considerable means, but he also liked to surround himself with conveniences such as few dwellers in this Adirondack wilderness could afford to possess. Running water, electricity generated by his own plant, gas made at home, and a dozen other like comforts attested to his good sense.
“You see, my father had to come up here to live long ago,” explained Ralph, when he heard the others express their surprise concerning these things so unusual in a district removed from town, “and as he grew to love the place more and more, he kept installing these conveniences, until now we are fairly comfortable.”
Tubby felt sure he would like the whole outing first-rate. He even sniffed the air again vigorously, this time because of a delightful aroma of cooking that was borne from the kitchen end of the big farmhouse; for as everybody knew Tubby Hopkins was—well he himself called it a “connoisseur” when it came to the subject of providing for the wants of boyish appetites.
At the door a tall gentleman was waiting to receive them. He, of course, was the father of Ralph, a sunburned man of rugged build, who looked as though he enjoyed the best of health, thanks to his outdoor life; and yet many years before he had come up to this region expecting to make a last fight against insidious disease.
“Glad to know you all, boys,” he told them, shaking hands cordially, while his eyes glistened with pleasure, for it was not often Ralph had friends visit him, he being a rather peculiar boy and much given to keeping his own company.
Supper was soon ready, and although the boys had felt a bit tired after a day on the train, they were speedily revived once they sat down to a table that seemed fairly to groan under the weight of good things.
Tubby actually slyly pinched himself once or twice as he looked at the wonderful spread, for he feared he was dreaming. Tubby was already certain he would like the Jeffords farm very much—all but those skunks, and somehow that worried him. He had had a former experience with similar little animals that had given him great trouble, and caused him to be shunned by every boy in camp during the rest of their stay in the woods.
“Huh! once stung, twice shy,” was the way Tubby put it when he allowed his mind to travel back again to those sorrowful days of the past.
Afterwards they gathered in the big living-room, where the conversation became general. Rob had warned his chums not to attempt to boast of anything they had seen or done in their capacity as scouts; but when actually questioned they were at liberty to reply at length.
Thus a number of events came to be mentioned, and it could be seen that both Ralph and his father had their interest aroused. In good time, just as Sim anticipated, the subject of photography was brought forward.
“Oh! yes, Sim!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly, “you promised to let me take a look at a bunch of pictures you and some of the other fellows took—I think you said they were of wild animals you had met in the woods. Would you mind getting them now, while we have time?”
“I’ll be only too glad to do it, Ralph,” came the ready reply. “While I’m about it, Rob, I might as well fetch the little package of war scenes you fellows managed to snap off over in Belgium and France when you were there; also of the Panama-Pacific Exposition at San Francisco.”
Ralph looked doubly eager on hearing this.
“Do you mean to tell me, Rob, that you’ve been across the sea, and actually in the fighting zone where the Germans and the French and British are scrapping to beat the band?” was what he flashed out.
“We had that great good fortune,” replied the leader of the Eagle Patrol, modestly; “and saw a lot of things we’ll never forget to our dying day. I’ll tell you more about them while you’re looking over our little collection. They’re not the best pictures we’ve ever taken, because you know we had only a tiny vest pocket edition of a camera, and had to snap most of them off on the sly, for we would have been arrested if caught doing it openly. I see you have a fine reading glass here on the table, and with that you can get a lot of good detail work.”
“Well, I begin to see that I’m going to get real enjoyment out of this visit you and your chums are paying me, Sim,” acknowledged Ralph, frankly.
When later on the pictures were being examined in detail, and there was always some story connected with every one, he repeated this expression a dozen times. Sim or one of the others had a lively yarn to tell of many of the animal pictures—how Mr. Coon, for instance, was induced to snap off his own likeness while in the act of stealing a tempting bait, a cord causing the trap to spring, and the flashlight to flame up, considerably astonishing the invader; also little adventures of their own while stumbling along through the darkness to set a snare for some wary old fox that would never come near the camp.
Ralph enjoyed these reminiscences hugely. They were quite in line with his own fads, and more than once he exchanged glances with his father as though to admit that possibly more enjoyment could be had in hunting with a camera than while “toting” a murderous shotgun through the woods in order to kill off the innocent little beasts and birds that dwelt there.
Then, when the war pictures were being shown, how eagerly did he ask dozens of questions, for every boy has it in him to yearn to see military manœuvres, perhaps a battle royal; though after passing through one such experience his ideas are apt to change radically.
Rob was able to give quite graphic descriptions of numerous thrilling things he and his chums had witnessed, yes, and even participated in. He told these modestly enough, as though it was only a matter of course that scouts should lend a helping hand, and to assist field hospital surgeons take care of desperately wounded men of both sides who were being brought in by streams.
At another time Ralph might have felt considerable doubt regarding the authenticity of these accounts. Somehow, after witnessing the prompt manner in which Rob had taken care of that unlucky boy thrown from the vehicle, and suffering not only a broken arm but a dislocated shoulder as well, it seemed only natural that a wideawake young chap, such as he realized the scout leader to be, should prove equal to even greater emergencies.
Long and earnestly did he scan those small pictures that in many ways revealed the fact that Rob had indeed been in the war zone, close to where terrible battles were being daily fought to prove whether the ideals of the Teuton or those of the Allies were to prevail from that time forth in the world.
Finally, Rob grew tired of talking. He turned the tables by starting Ralph into telling some things connected with his unique enterprise of fur farming. Once this subject came to the front and the farm boy was all animation, for it could be easily seen that his heart was in his peculiar profession.
“I’d always had ideas on the subject,” he went on to say, “but only a couple of years ago commenced to put them into practical operation. Dad gave me a hundred of his wildest acres that could never be used for anything else, and we had the tract fenced in, even going down several feet so as to keep my foxes from ever digging a burrow, and escaping in that way.”
“Did you catch or buy your first pair of blacks?” asked Rob.
“Well, as there hasn’t been a wild black fox seen around this neighborhood for twenty years and more, though plenty of common red ones,” Ralph explained, “we had to invest some big money for the first pair. But they had a litter of pups, and it happened that the little chaps came true to color, all right, though they sometimes revert back to the old stock, you know. So we got started, and by trading, selling, and buying I now have just sixteen foxes in my pen, some young, and others ready to donate their pelts this Fall, if the market quotations hold up.”
“About what price do you call a good one?” asked Sim.
“Oh! all the way from five hundred up to fifteen hundred dollars,” said Ralph in the most unconcerned way possible; at which Tubby’s eyes widened, and he exclaimed:
“Gingersnaps and popguns! but you surely don’t mean that amount of money for just one little black fox skin, Ralph?”
“Why, certainly,” the other assured him, smiling at Tubby’s amazement. “There have been extra fine ones that brought as much as three thousand dollars. I never expect to raise such expensive stock. I’m counting on five hundred as the basis of my calculations; and if you’re fairly successful in raising your litters, there’s good money in the business at that. Besides, it’s great sport in the bargain to one who really loves animals, and knows more or less of their cute ways.”
“Five hundred dollars for just one little skin!” Tubby was heard to mutter, as though that struck him as most remarkable. “Well, if you keep along as you’re going, Ralph, I can see you getting to be a second Rockefeller before you’re fifty. Now, I don’t suppose a skunk is quite as valuable an article, though the fellow brave enough to handle him deserves a fortune, according to my notion.”
“Oh!” laughed the other, “we’re glad to get from one to three dollars for a skunk pelt, according to whether it’s jet black, or striped. Most of them are striped, you know. But wait and you’ll learn more about these things later on.”
“Then it’ll have to be at considerable distance for me, I guess,” affirmed Tubby, with a look of resolution on his broad face, and a determined shake of his head.
Upon being encouraged to narrate some of his interesting experiences while engaged in his odd calling, Ralph gladly complied. The scouts showed deep curiosity as they plied him with questions. Evidently there was a good chance for a fair exchange of notes, and it looked as though both sides would be all the richer for this barter.
It was found that an extra large room had been set aside for the boys, with two generous double beds in it. There were four windows, so they were sure to have an abundance of fresh air while up at the farm.
When retiring for the night, at about ten o’clock, amidst sundry yawns, and more or less stretching of arms, the quartette from Hampton seemed to agree on one particular thing. This was to the effect that their stay in the mountains promised to be one of the most interesting and entertaining of all their experiences. There were so many new things for them to see, and the environments seemed so particularly home-like-with royal fare thrown in, Tubby wanted them to remember as they gave thanks—that a feast awaited them.
Some of them wished they had come for a month instead of just one week. But the vacation season was nearing an end, and they had certain duties and engagements around Hampton that could not be longer deferred.
So they finally climbed aboard their several big beds, and Tubby tried to get the wonderful things he had been hearing out of his mind, so he could go to sleep.