The History of The Hen Fever Part 16

"No, sir."

"A thousand?"

"No."

"Two thousand?"

"No, sir."

"_Five_ thousand?"

"No! I will keep her."

And I did. What was five thousand dollars to me? _Bah!_ I had the hen-c.o.c.k "f.a.n.n.y Fern." I didn't want money. My pocket-book was full to bursting, and so was my head with the excitement of the hen fever. And "f.a.n.n.y" crowed again. Ah! _what_ a crow was f.a.n.n.y's!

"f.a.n.n.y" couldn't be bought, and so my compet.i.tors clanned together to destroy her. The old fogies didn't like this breed, and they resolved to annihilate all chance of its perpetuation. I placed her in better quarters, where she would be more secure from intrusion or surprise. I told her of my fears,--and _didn't_ she crow? She flapped her bright black wings, and crowed all over. "c.o.c.k-a-doodle-_doo--oo--oo_!" shouted "f.a.n.n.y," while her sharp eyes twinkled, her fair throat trembled, and the exhilarating tone of defiance seemed to reach to the very tips of her s.h.i.+ning toe-nails. "c.o.c.k-a-too--_roo--oo_!" she shrieked; "let 'em come, too! See what they'll _do--oo_! I'll take care of _you--oo_! Don't get in a _stoo--oo_! Pooh--pooh--poo--_poo_!"

Maybe "f.a.n.n.y" didn't crow! And _I_ learned to crow. It was beautiful!

She crowed, and I crowed. We crowed together. She in her way,--I in mine. The duet was mellifluous, cheering, soul-stirring, life-invigorating, _profitable_.

"f.a.n.n.y" went into New York State, crowing when she left, crowing as she went, and continuing to crow until she crowed the community there clear through the next fourth o' July, out into the fabled millennium. She crowed Messrs. Derby & Miller into a handsome fortune, and Mason & Brothers into ditto. She crowed one Hyacinth into the shreds of a c.o.c.ked hat and battered knee-buckles. She crowed the Hall breed of old hens so far out of sight that the "search for Sir John Franklin" would be a fool to the journey requisite to overtake that family. And still she _crowed_.

The more they bade her stop, the more she wouldn't.

"c.o.c.k-a-tootle--_too_!" "I-know-what-_I_-shall--_doo_!"

"What-do-I-care-for--_yoo_?" "This-world-is-all--foo--_foo_."

"Leave-_me_-and-I'll-leave--_you_." "If-not-I'll-lamm--_you_--TOO--OO!"

And "f.a.n.n.y" crowed herself at last into the good graces of two _long brothers_ in Gotham, where she is now crowing with all her might and main. Let her crow!

She was a remarkable "bird," that rollicking, joyous, inexplicable, flirting, funny, furious "f.a.n.n.y Fern." I hear her now again!

"c.o.c.k-A-DOODLE--DOO--OO!" "Young 'Un,--you-will-do!!"

"_Et--tu--Brute--o-o-o!!!_"

CHAPTER XXIII.

CONVALESCENCE.

One striking feature that exhibited itself in the midst of this mania, was the fact that prominent among the leading dealers in fancy poultry, constantly appeared the names of clergymen, doctors, and other "liberally-educated" gentlemen.

In Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and most of the Eastern States, this circ.u.mstance was especially noticeable; and more particularly in England. Whether this cla.s.s of the community had the most money to throw away, or whether their leisure afforded them the better opportunity to indulge in this fancy, I cannot say; but one thing is certain,--among my own patrons and correspondents, for the past five or six years, I find the names of this cla.s.s of "the people" by far the most conspicuous and frequent.

There came into my office, one morning late in 1853, a Boston physician (whom I had never seen before), who introduced himself civilly, and invited me to ride a short distance with him up town. I was busy; but he insisted, and his manner was peculiarly urgent and determined.

"My carriage is at the door," he said; "and I will bring you back here in twenty minutes. I have some pure-blood stock I desire to dispose of."

"What _is_ it, doctor?" I asked.

"Chickens, chickens!" replied the doctor, briefly.

I a.s.sured the gentleman that I had near a thousand fowls on hand at this time, and had no possible wish to increase the number.

"They are pure-bred--cost me high," he continued; "are very fine, but I must part with them--come!"

I joined him, and we rode a mile or more, when he halted before a fine, large house; his servant in waiting took his horse, and he ushered me into his well-appointed poultry-house, at the rear of his dwelling.

The buildings were glazed in front and upon the roofs; the yards were s.p.a.cious and cleanly, and appropriately divided; the laying and hatching rooms were roomy and convenient; the roosting-house was airy and pleasant, and everything was, seemingly, in excellent order, and arranged with good taste throughout.

"That c.o.c.k cost me twenty dollars," said the doctor, calmly. "Those two hens I paid eighteen dollars for. That bird, yonder, twelve dollars.

These five pullets stand me in about forty-five dollars. I have never yet been able to hatch but one brood of chickens. The rats carried _them_ off by the third morning after they came into this world. The hens sometimes lay, I believe; at least, my man says so. I have never _seen_ any eggs from them myself, however. I have no doubt this species of fowls (these Changays) _do_ lay eggs, though. There are twenty-two of them. Buy them, Mr. B----," continued the doctor, urgently.

I said no; I really did not want them.

"I _had_ nigh forty of them," continued the doctor, "two months ago. But they have disappeared. Disease, roup, vermin, night-thieves, sir. Will you buy them? John----drive them out!"

The fowls were driven into the main yard. There were but sixteen in all.

"Where are the rest, John?" inquired the doctor, anxiously. "There were twenty-two here yesterday."

"I dunno, sir," said John.

"Drive 'em back, and box them up, John. Mr. B----, will you make an offer for the remainder? To-morrow I shall probably have none to sell!

Will you give anything for them?"

I declined to buy.

"Will you permit me to send them to you as a present, sir?" he continued.

I did not want them, any way. I had a full supply.

"What will you charge me, Mr. B----, to allow them to be sent to you?"

continued the fancier, desperately, and resolutely, at last.

I saw he was determined, and I took his fowls (fifteen of them), and gave him ten dollars.

He smiled.

"I have had the hen fever," he added, "_badly_--but I am better of it. I am convalescent, now," said the doctor. "You see what I have here for houses; cost me over seven hundred dollars; my birds over four hundred more; grain and care for a year, a hundred more. I am _satisfied_! Your money, here, is the first dollar I ever received in return for my investment. You see what I have left out of my venture of twelve or thirteen hundred dollars; the manure, and--and--the lice!"

Such were the exact facts! His stock was selected from the Marsh and Forbes importations, and the birds were good; but, by the time he got ready to believe that it wasn't _all_ gold that glittered, the sale of _this_ variety of fowl had pa.s.sed by. A chance purchaser happened to come along soon after, however, who "hadn't read the papers" so attentively as some of us had, and who wanted these very fowls. I sold them to him, "cheap as a broom," because the fever for this kind of bird was rapidly declining. He paid me only $150 for this lot; which _was_ a bargain, of a truth. The buyer was satisfied, however, and so was _I_.

These were but isolated instances. Scores and hundreds of gentlemen and amateur fanciers found themselves in a similar predicament, at the end of one or two or three years. Without possessing a single particle of knowledge requisite to the successful accomplishment of their purpose,--utterly ignorant of the first rudiments of the business,--they jumped into it, without reason, forgetting the wholesome advice contained in the musty adage, "look before you leap." And, after sinking tens and hundreds or (in some cases) _thousands_ of dollars in experiments, they woke up to find that they had _had_ the fever badly, but, fortunately, were at last convalescent!

I was busy, all this time, in supplying my friends with "pure-bred"

stock, however, and had very little leisure to tarry to sympathize with these "poor creeturs." The demand for _my_ stock continued, and the best year's business I ever enjoyed, was from the spring of 1853 to May and June, 1854; when it commenced to fall off very sensibly, and the prospect became dubious, for future operations, even with _me_.