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THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
we’re concerned – my wife an’ me, I mean. Maybe I’ll get hold
of it after a while.”
“And in the meantime, we’ll look around,” Mrs. Mortimer invited. “I want to show you everything, and tell you how
I make it go. Afterward, we’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you about
the beginning. You see – ” she bent her gaze on Saxon –
“I want you thoroughly to understand that you can succeed in
the country if you go about it right. I didn’t know a thing about
it when I began, and I didn’t have a fi ne big man like yours.
I was all alone. But I’ll tell you about that.”
For the next hour, among vegetables, berry-bushes and
fruit trees, Saxon stored her brain with a huge mass of information to be digested at her leisure. Billy, too, was interested,
but he left the talking to Saxon, himself rarely asking a question. At the rear of the bungalow, where everything was as
clean and orderly as the front, they were shown through the
chicken yard. Here, in different runs, were kept several hundred small and snow-white hens.
“White Leghorns,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “You have no
idea what they netted me this year. I never keep a hen a moment past the prime of her laying period – ”
“Just what I was tellin’ you, Saxon, about horses,” Billy
broke in.
“And by the simplest method of hatching them at the right
time, which not one farmer in ten thousand ever dreams of
doing, I have them laying in the winter when most hens stop
laying and when eggs are highest. Another thing: I have my
special customers. They pay me ten cents a dozen more than
the market price, because my specialty is one-day eggs.”
401
JACK LONDON
Here she chanced to glance at Billy, and guessed that he
was still wrestling with his problem.
“Same old thing?” she queried.
He nodded. “Same old thing. If every farmer delivered dayold eggs, there wouldn’t be no ten cents higher ‘n the top price.
They’d be no better off than they was before.”
“But the eggs would be one-day eggs, all the eggs would be
one-day eggs, you mustn’t forget that,” Mrs. Mortimer pointed
out.
“But that don’t butter no toast for my wife an’ me,” he objected. “An’ that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to get the hang of, an’
now I got it. You talk about theory an’ fact. Ten cents higher
than top price is a theory to Saxon an’ me. The fact is, we ain’t
got no eggs, no chickens, an’ no land for the chickens to run
an’ lay eggs on.”
Their hostess nodded sympathetically.
“An’ there’s something else about this outfi t of yourn that
I don’t get the hang of,” he pursued. “I can’t just put my fi nger
on it, but it’s there all right.”
They were shown over the cattery, the piggery, the milkers,
and the kennelry, as Mrs. Mortimer called her live stock departments. None was large. All were moneymakers, she assured
them, and rattled off her profi ts glibly. She took their breaths
away by the prices given and received for pedigreed Persians,
pedigreed Ohio Improved Chesters, pedigreed Scotch collies,
and pedigreed Jerseys. For the milk of the last she also had
a special private market, receiving fi ve cents more a quart than
was fetched by the best dairy milk. Billy was quick to point out
the difference between the look of her orchard and the look
402
THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
of the orchard they had inspected the previous afternoon, and
Mrs. Mortimer showed him scores of other differences, many
of which he was compelled to accept on faith.
Then she told them of another industry, her home-made
jams and jellies, always contracted for in advance, and at prices
dizzyingly beyond the regular market. They sat in comfortable
rattan chairs on the veranda, while she told the story of how
she had drummed up the jam and jelly trade, dealing only with
the one best restaurant and one best club in San Jose. To the
proprietor and the steward she had gone with her samples,
in long discussions beaten down their opposition, overcome
their reluctance, and persuaded the proprietor, in particular,
to make a “special” of her wares, to boom them quietly with his
patrons, and, above all, to charge stiffl y for dishes and courses
in which they appeared.
Throughout the recital Billy’s eyes were moody with dissatisfaction. Mrs. Mortimer saw, and waited.
“And now, begin at the beginning,” Saxon begged.
But Mrs. Mortimer refused unless they agreed to stop for
supper. Saxon frowned Billy’s reluctance away, and accepted
for both of them.
“Well, then,” Mrs. Mortimer took up her tale, “in the beginning I was a greenhorn, city born and bred. All I knew of the
country was that it was a place to go to for vacations, and I always went to springs and mountain and seaside resorts. I had
lived among books almost all my life. I was head librarian of
the Doncaster Library for years. Then I married Mr. Mortimer.
He was a book man, a professor in San Miguel University. He
had a long sickness, and when he died there was nothing left.
403
JACK LONDON
Even his life insurance was eaten into before I could be free of
creditors. As for myself, I was worn out, on the verge of nervous prostration, fi t for nothing. I had fi ve thousand dollars
left, however, and, without going into the details, I decided to
go farming. I found this place, in a delightful climate, close
to San Jose – the end of the electric line is only a quarter of
a mile on – and I bought it. I paid two thousand cash, and gave
a mortgage for two thousand. It cost two hundred an acre, you
see.”
“Twenty acres!” Saxon cried.
“Wasn’t that pretty small?” Billy ventured.
“Too large, oceans too large. I leased ten acres of it the fi rst
thing. And it’s still leased after all this time. Even the ten I’d
retained was much too large for a long, long time. It’s only now
that I’m beginning to feel a tiny mite crowded.”
“And ten acres has supported you an’ two hired men?” Billy
demanded, amazed.
Mrs. Mortimer clapped her hands delightedly.
“Listen. I had been a librarian. I knew my way among books.
First of all I’d read everything written on the subject, and subscribed to some of the best farm magazines and papers. And
you ask if my ten acres have supported me and two hired men.
Let me tell you. I have four hired men. The ten acres certainly
must support them, as it supports Hannah – she’s a Swedish
widow who runs the house and who is a perfect Trojan during the jam and jelly season – and Hannah’s daughter, who
goes to school and lends a hand, and my nephew whom I have
taken to raise and educate. Also, the ten acres have come pretty
404
THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
close to paying for the whole twenty, as well as for this house,
and all the outbuildings, and all the pedigreed stock.”
Saxon remembered what the young lineman had said
about the Portuguese.
“The ten acres didn’t do a bit of it,” she cried. “It was your
head that did it all, and you know it.”
“And that’s the point, my dear. It shows the right kind of
person can succeed in the country. Remember, the soil is generous. But it must be treated generously, and that is something
the old style American farmer can’t get into his head. So it IS
head that counts. Even when his starving acres have convinced
him of the need for fertilizing, he can’t see the difference between cheap fertilizer and good fertilizer.”
“And that’s something I want to know about,” Saxon exclaimed. “And I’ll tell you all I know, but, fi rst, you must be
very tired. I noticed you were limping. Let me take you in –
never mind your bundles; I’ll send Chang for them.”
To Saxon, with her innate love of beauty and charm in all
personal things, the interior of the bungalow was a revelation.
Never before had she been inside a middle class home, and what
she saw not only far exceeded anything she had imagined, but
was vastly different from her imaginings. Mrs. Mortimer noted
her sparkling glances which took in everything, and went out
of her way to show Saxon around, doing it under the guise of
gleeful boastings, stating the costs of the different materials,
explaining how she had done things with her own hands, such
as staining the doors, weathering the bookcases, and putting
together the big Mission Morris chair. Billy stepped gingerly
behind, and though it never entered his mind to ape to the
405
JACK LONDON
manner born, he succeeded in escaping conspicuous awkwardness, even at the table where he and Saxon had the unique experience of being waited on in a private house by a servant.
“If you’d only come along next year,” Mrs. Mortimer mourned; “then I should have had the spare room I had planned – ”
“That’s all right,” Billy spoke up; “thank you just the same.
But we’ll catch the electric cars into San Jose an’ get a room.”
Mrs. Mortimer was still disturbed at her inability to put
them up for the night, and Saxon changed the conversation by
pleading to be told more.
“You remember, I told you I’d paid only two thousand
down on the land,” Mrs. Mortimer complied. “That left me
three thousand to experiment with. Of course, all my friends
and relatives prophesied failure. And, of course, I made my
mistakes, plenty of them, but I was saved from still more by
the thorough study I had made and continued to make.” She
indicated shelves of farm books and fi les of farm magazines
that lined the walls. “And I continued to study. I was resolved
to be up to date, and I sent for all the experiment station reports. I went almost entirely on the basis that whatever the
old type farmer did was wrong, and, do you know, in doing
that I was not so far wrong myself. It’s almost unthinkable, the
stupidity of the old-fashioned farmers. Oh, I consulted with
them, talked things over with them, challenged their stereotyped ways, demanded demonstration of their dogmatic and
prejudiced beliefs, and quite succeeded in convincing the last
of them that I was a fool and doomed to come to grief.”
“But you didn’t! You didn’t!”
Mrs. Mortimer smiled gratefully.
406
THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
“Sometimes, even now, I’m amazed that I didn’t. But I came
of a hard-headed stock which had been away from the soil
long enough to gain a new perspective. When a thing satisfi ed my judgment, I did it forthwith and downright, no matter how extravagant it seemed. Take the old orchard. Worthless! Worse than worthless! Old Calkins nearly died of heart
disease when he saw the devastation I had wreaked upon it.
And look at it now. There was an old rattletrap ruin where
the bungalow now stands. I put up with it, but I immediately
pulled down the cow barn, the pigsties, the chicken houses,
everything – made a clean sweep. They shook their heads
and groaned when they saw such wanton waste by a widow
struggling to make a living. But worse was to come. They were
paralyzed when I told them the price of the three beautiful
O.I.C.‘s – pigs, you know, Chesters – which I bought, sixty
dollars for the three, and only just weaned. Then I hustled
the nondescript chickens to market, replacing them with the
White Leghorns. The two scrub cows that came with the place
I sold to the butcher for thirty dollars each, paying two hundred and fi fty for two blue-blooded Jersey heifers... and coined
money on the exchange, while Calkins and the rest went right
on with their scrubs that couldn’t give enough milk to pay for
their board.”
Billy nodded approval.
“Remember what I told you about horses,” he reiterated
to Saxon; and, assisted by his hostess, he gave a very creditable
disquisition on horsefl esh and its management from a business point of view.
407
JACK LONDON
When he went out to smoke Mrs. Mortimer led Saxon into
talking about herself and Billy, and betrayed not the slightest
shock when she learned of his prizefi ghting and scab-slugging
proclivities.
“He’s a splendid young man, and good,” she assured Saxon.
“His face shows that. And, best of all, he loves you and is proud
of you. You can’t imagine how I have enjoyed watching the
way he looks at you, especially when you are talking. He respects your judgment. Why, he must, for here he is with you
on this pilgrimage which is wholly your idea.” Mrs. Mortimer
sighed. “You are very fortunate, dear child, very fortunate. And
you don’t yet know what a man’s brain is. Wait till he is quite
fi red with enthusiasm for your project. You will be astounded
by the way he takes hold. You will have to exert yourself to
keep up with him. In the meantime, you must lead. Remember,
he is city bred. It will be a struggle to wean him from the only
life he’s known.”
“Oh, but he’s disgusted with the city, too – ” Saxon began.
“But not as you are. Love is not the whole of man, as it is
of woman. The city hurt you more than it hurt him. It was you
who lost the dear little babe. His interest, his connection, was
no more than casual and incidental compared with the depth
and vividness of yours.”
Mrs. Mortimer turned her head to Billy, who was just entering.
“Have you got the hang of what was bothering you?” she
asked.
“Pretty close to it,” he answered, taking the indicated big
Morris chair. “It’s this – ”
408
THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
“One moment,” Mrs. Mortimer checked him. “That is
a beautiful, big, strong chair, and so are you, at any rate big
and strong, and your little wife is very weary – no, no; sit
down, it’s your strength she needs. Yes, I insist. Open your
arms.”
And to him she led Saxon, and into his arms placed her.
“Now, sir – and you look delicious, the pair of you – register
your objections to my way of earning a living.”
“It ain’t your way,” Billy repudiated quickly. “Your way’s
all right. It’s great. What I’m trying to get at is that your way
don’t fi t us. We couldn’t make a go of it your way. Why you had
pull – well-to-do acquaintances, people that knew you’d been
a librarian an’ your husband a professor. An’ you had....” Here
he fl oundered a moment, seeking defi niteness for the idea he
still vaguely grasped. “Well, you had a way we couldn’t have.
You were educated, an’... an’ – I don’t know, I guess you knew
society ways an’ business ways we couldn’t know.”
“But, my dear boy, you could learn what was necessary,”
she contended.
Billy shook his head.
“No. You don’t quite get me. Let’s take it this way. Just
suppose it’s me, with jam an’ jelly, a-wadin’ into that swell
restaurant like you did to talk with the top guy. Why, I’d be
outa place the moment I stepped into his offi ce. Worse’n that,
I’d feel outa place. That’d make me have a chip on my shoulder an’ lookin’ for trouble, which is a poor way to do business.
Then, too, I’d be thinkin’ he was thinkin’ I was a whole lot of
a husky to be peddlin’ jam. What’d happen, I’d be chesty at the
drop of the hat. I’d be thinkin’ he was thinkin’ I was standin’
409
JACK LONDON
on my foot, an’ I’d beat him to it in tellin’ him he was standin’
on HIS foot. Don’t you see? It’s because I was raised that way.
It’d be take it or leave it with me, an’ no jam sold.”
“What you say is true,” Mrs. Mortimer took up brightly.
“But there is your wife. Just look at her. She’d make an impression on any business man. He’d be only too willing to listen
to her.”
Billy stiffened, a forbidding expression springing into his
eyes.
“What have I done now?” their hostess laughed.
“I ain’t got around yet to tradin’ on my wife’s looks,” he
rumbled gruffl y.
“Right you are. The only trouble is that you, both of you,
are fi fty years behind the times. You’re old American. How
you ever got here in the thick of modern conditions is a miracle. You’re Rip Van Winkles. Who ever heard, in these degenerate times, of a young man and woman of the city putting their blankets on their backs and starting out in search
of land? Why, it’s the old Argonaut spirit. You’re as like as
peas in a pod to those who yoked their oxen and held west
to the lands beyond the sunset. I’ll wager your fathers and
mothers, or grandfathers and grandmothers, were that very
stock.”
Saxon’s eyes were glistening, and Billy’s were friendly once
more. Both nodded their heads.
“I’m of the old stock myself,” Mrs. Mortimer went on
proudly. “My grandmother was one of the survivors of the
Donner Party. My grandfather, Jason Whitney, came around
the Horn and took part in the raising of the Bear Flag at So-
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