a lot of laughs on the old man's farm, no foolin'! Then them movie friends of yours is up at that slab and we can throw a party every night. Our farm's worth important sugar today and only a few years ago pop bought it for a song!"
"What was the name of the song?" I asked him.
"I forget the words," says Pete, "but I remember the notes because I had to pay most of 'em off myself."
"C'mon, Gladys," urges Jerry, "tell 'at big boloney Williams you're tired of sayin' hello and you want to say good-by to him for a while!"
"Yeh," says Pete, "think of the fresh milk and eggs, the simple life in the country, the cows and chickens and that kind of stuff, which I loved so well that I left 'em flat on their shoulder-blades at the age of ten! C'mon up and watch me do a piece of farmin'. If I do say it myself, I milk a mean cow and pitch a nasty stack of hay!"
I thanked Pete for his kind invitation and told him I'd think it over. It didn't take me long to argue myself into the idea that I'd like to give Pete's farm a look-see, so I arranged a two week's furlough from the switchboard. Then I wired Hazel to meet my train, packed up and did a fade-out from the Hotel St. Moe.
Not only the beauteous Hazel, but Pete and Jerry are on hand when I tripped off the train at the little dilapidated station, bearing a weather-beaten sign,
