To Bob every mile of the western journey was a step into Wonderland; novel sights, novel ideas confronted him on every hand and viewed through the medium of his enthusiasm things that had become threadbare to Van became, as if by magic, suddenly new. The greatness of the country was a marvel of which Bob had never before had any adequate conception. Then there were the cities, alive with varying industries, and teeming with their strangely mixed American population. Above all was the amazing natural beauty of scenery hitherto undreamed of. Hour after hour Bob sat spellbound at the window of the observation-car, never tiring of watching the shifting landscape as it whirled past. His interest and intelligence caught the notice of a gentleman who occupied the section opposite the boys, and soon the three formed one of those pleasant acquaintances so frequently made in traveling. Mr. Powers (for that was the stranger's name) was on his way back to his farm in Utah, and very eager was he to reach home. "So many things on the place need my attention that the journey you are delighting in seems very long to me," he remarked to Bob one morning as they came from the dining-car. "Is your farm a large one, Mr. Powers?" questioned Bob. Mr. Powers smiled. "It is larger than you would want to build a fence around," he returned humorously. "I suppose you have all sorts of cows and pigs and horses on it, and raise every kind of fruit and vegetable that ever was invented," put in Van mischievously. Mr. Powers shook his head and looked not a little amused. "No. We have only enough stock for our own use--nothing fancy. I do not go in for show farming. I raise only one thing on my land, and I'm going to see if you are clever enough to guess what it is." "Alfalfa!" cried Bob instantly. "No. How did you happen to think of that?" "Oh, I've read that lots of western farmers raised it." "True enough. It wasn't a bad guess, but it was not the right one," said the stranger. "Now suppose we hear from your chum." "Corn." "Still wrong; but you are getting warmer." "Wheat." "Wheat is not as good a random shot as corn." "It must be a vegetable," declared Bob thoughtfully. "Let me see. Not potatoes?" "No." "Of course it couldn't be peas, or beans, or squash, because you said once you had hundreds of acres, and you would never raise any of those things in such large quantities," argued Van. "Spinach, tomatoes--" "I have it!" cried Bob. "You should have guessed it the first thing, Van." "Why?" "Can't you think? With your father right in the business you ought to." "Beets," exclaimed Van. "Beets it is!" agreed Mr. Powers. "So your father is interested in beets too, is he? You don't chance to be the son of Mr. Asa Blake, do you?" "Yes, sir." "That is a coincidence," observed Mr. Powers much interested. "I sell all my crops to him. I expect then, young man, you know all there is to be known about growing beets."