At any rate, it was not long after the Eckstrom invasion that Stella and I went to play golf, carrying a load of lettuce heads and cauliflowers to market on our way. As all Bert's cauliflowers are sold in bulk to a New York commission merchant, I found I had the local market pretty much to myself, and was getting 15 cents a head for my plants. Mike dearly loved cauliflowers, and babied ours as a flower gardener babies his hybrid tea roses. They were splendid heads, and were bringing me in a dollar a day or more. I had visions of greatly increasing my output another season, for I could easily supply the two hotels as well. We left our farm wagon in the church horse-sheds and went down to the links. There was a crowd of caddies of all ages sitting on the benches reserved for them, and half a dozen came rushing toward us. I chose a large boy, because I am one of those idiots who carries around at least seven more clubs than he ever uses, and Stella picked a smaller boy because she liked his face. As golf is not an engrossing game when you are playing with your wife, and she's a beginner into the bargain (matrimony has its drawbacks, too!) we fell to talking with our caddies. "You must be in the high school, eh?" said I to mine. "I went last year," he replied, "but I ain't goin' no more. Goin' to work." "Work at your age? What are you going to do?" asked Stella. "I dunno--somethin'," he answered. "Why don't you keep on at school?" I said. "Aw, what's the use?" said he. "They don't learn you nothin'--algebra and English and stuff like that." "A little English wouldn't hurt you at all, young man," said Stella. "You don't like to study, do you?" The boy looked sheepish, but admitted that he didn't. "What do you like to do?" I asked. "You don't like to caddy very well, because you don't keep your eye on the ball, and you've made the little fellow take out the pin on every hole so far." The boy flushed at this, and went up to the next pin himself. "I'd like to work in a garden," he said, as we were walking to the next tee. "You want to be a gardener, eh?" said I. "Has anybody ever taught you how to start a hotbed?" "No, sir." "Ever run a wheel hoe?" "No, sir." "Would you know what date to plant early peas, and corn, and lima beans?" "No, sir." "Ever graft an apple tree?" "No, sir." "Well, you're not very well fitted to take a job as a gardener yet, are you?" said I. He admitted that he wasn't. "Would you keep on going to school if they taught you how to be a gardener?" asked Stella, carrying on the line of questioning. "You bet," he replied. "But, gee! they don't teach nothin' like that. Only bookkeepin' and typewritin', and then you have to go away to a business college somewhere before you can get a job." "We seem to have stumbled on a civic problem," I remarked to my wife as we teed up. "I don't believe an educational survey would do this town any harm." "And the finger of destiny points to us?" she smiled.