Anderson's efforts at milking! Goodness, but they were fierce! I shall never forget his attempts at the first cow he "milked." He went after that bovine with vengeance, and did his utmost to coax, bribe, threaten or cajole her into giving up her milk, by getting half Nelsons and hammerlocks around the necessary part of her anatomy, but like the rest of her sex, she was stubborn when she wished to be, and absolutely refused. So when Norman, the foreman of the farm, returned to the scene of action, she was complacently chewing her cud, and Anderson, like the hero in the story books, was making a last "almost superhuman effort" to make her come across--and the pail was empty. I guess Norman thought he might be able to get milk from a condensed can, but when it comes to cows, "Nay, nay, Pauline." About my plowing! Those furrows looked about as straight as a writhing sea-serpent with a bad stomach ache, with no wintergreen handy, and to Norman's practiced eye they must have looked twice that bad. Oh! but I was "handy with tools,"--even if I didn't know a hammer from a pickaxe! Those long-suffering people stood for all that, but our services were no longer required when Anderson buckled the belly band around the horse's tail, fed him straw and bedded him with hay. Nevertheless at the same time Heren, Jr., treated us royally under the circumstances, and if laughing really makes a man fat, he surely ought to have been a heavyweight by the time we left. And strangely enough when we 'fessed up, he didn't seem astounded in the least. Sometimes I even doubt whether he ever thought we were experienced farmers. Then that handy man job in "Chi" with me for the man, who couldn't drive a nail without bending it, or hitting his fingers, and, consequently saying things. A week on the farm was enough, for Norman decided that he couldn't use us to a good advantage, so back to the city we went. As soon as we arrived in Chicago we struck out for an Employment Agency and were not long in securing a place out on the North side. How we used to make the dust fly out of those Brussels carpets and Oriental rugs, and make the lawn mowers sing over the smooth lawns of that richly inhabited settlement. We worked for a man who had a contract with about twenty people of the settlement to keep their carpets beaten and their lawns mown, and to do odd jobs around the houses. We rented a room only a few blocks from where our work lay, and three times per diem we did the gastronomic stunt. Oh, what a whole bunch of things we did do, such as flirting over the back fences with the maids in typical "handy man" fashion.