Lee put down his darning, moved his sewing basket to the floor, and changed his glasses.

Adam remonstrated, “What are you getting upset about?”

“I come from a whole goddam family of inventors,” said Will. “We had ideas for breakfast. We had ideas instead of breakfast. We had so many ideas we forgot to make the money for groceries. When we got a little ahead my father, or Tom, patented something. I’m the only one in the family, except my mother, who didn’t have ideas, and I’m the only one who ever made a dime. Tom had ideas about helping people, and some of it was pretty darn near socialism. And if you tell me you don’t care about making a profit, I’m going to throw that coffee pot right at your head.”

“Well, I don’t care much.”

“You stop right there, Adam. I’ve got my neck out. If you want to drop forty or fifty thousand dollars quick, you just go on with your idea. But I’m telling you—let your damned idea die. Kick dust over it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything’s wrong with it. People in the East aren’t used to vegetables in the winter. They wouldn’t buy them. You get your cars stuck on a siding and you’ll lose the shipment. The market is controlled. Oh, Jesus Christ! It makes me mad when babies try to ride into business on an idea.”

Adam sighed. “You make Sam Hamilton sound like a criminal,” he said.

“Well, he was my father and I loved him, but I wish to God he had let ideas alone.” Will looked at Adam and saw amazement in his eyes, and suddenly Will was ashamed. He shook his head slowly from side to side. “I didn’t mean to run down my people,” he said. “I think they were good people. But my advice to you stands. Let refrigeration alone.”

Adam turned slowly to Lee. “Have we got any more of that lemon pie we had for supper?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Lee. “I thought I heard mice in the kitchen. I’m afraid there will be white of egg on the boys’ pillows. You’ve got half a quart of whisky.”

“Have I? Why don’t we have that?”

“I got excited,” said Will, and he tried to laugh at himself. “A drink would do me good.” His face was fiery red and his voice was strained in his throat. “I’m getting too fat,” he said.

But he had two drinks and relaxed. Sitting comfortably, he instructed Adam. “Some things don’t ever change their value,” he said. “If you want to put money into something, you look around at the world. This war in Europe is going to go on a long time. And when there’s war there’s going to be hungry people. I won’t say it is so, but it wouldn’t surprise me if we got into it. I don’t trust this Wilson—he’s all theory and big words. And if we do get into it, there’s going to be fortunes made in imperishable foods. You take rice and corn and wheat and beans, they don’t need ice. They keep, and people can stay alive on them. I’d say if you were to plant your whole damned bottom land to beans and just put them away, why, your boys wouldn’t have to worry about the future. Beans are up to three cents now. If we get into the war I wouldn’t be surprised if they went to ten cents. And you keep beans dry and they’ll be right there, waiting for a market. If you want to turn a profit, you plant beans.”

He went away feeling good. The shame that had come over him was gone and he knew he had given sound advice.

After Will had gone Lee brought out one-third of a lemon pie and cut it in two. ‘“He’s getting too fat,” Lee said.

Adam was thinking. “I only said I wanted something to do,” he observed.

“How about the ice-plant?”

“I think I’ll buy it.”

“You might plant some beans too,” said Lee.

2

Late in the year Adam made his great try, and it was a sensation in a year of sensations, both local and international. As he got ready, businessmen spoke of him as farseeing, forward-looking, progress-minded. The departure of six carloads of lettuce packed in ice was given a civic overtone. The Chamber of Commerce attended the departure. The cars were decorated with big posters which said, “Salinas Valley Lettuce.” But no one wanted to invest in the project.

Adam untapped energy he did not suspect he had. It was a big job to gather, trim, box, ice, and load the lettuce. There was no equipment for such work. Everything had to be improvised, a great many hands hired and taught to do the work. Everyone gave advice but no one helped. It was estimated that Adam had spent a fortune on his idea, but how big a fortune no one knew. Adam did not know. Only Lee knew.

The idea looked good. The lettuce was consigned to commission merchants in New York at a fine price. Then the train was gone and everyone went home to wait. If it was a success any number of men were willing to dig down to put money in. Even Will Hamilton wondered whether he had not been wrong with his advice.

If the series of events had been planned by an omnipotent and unforgiving enemy it could not have been more effective. As the train came to Sacramento a snow slide closed the Sierras for two days and the six cars stood on a siding, dripping their ice away. On the third day the freight crossed the mountains, and that was the time for unseasonable warm weather throughout the Middle West. In Chicago there developed a confusion of orders—no one’s fault—just one of those things that happen, and Adam’s six cars of lettuce stood in the yard for five more days. That was enough, and there is no reason to go into it in detail. What arrived in New York was six carloads of horrible slop with a sizable charge just to get rid of it.