The Story of Sugar Part 19

"And then?"

"If they are to be made directly into syrup and do not have to be s.h.i.+pped in bulk they go into slicers which cut them into V-shaped pieces about the length and thickness of a slate pencil, these pieces being called cossettes. The sliced beet-root is next put into warm water tanks in order that the sugar contained in it may be drawn out. Built in a circle, these tanks are connected, and as the beets move from one vat to another more and more sugar is taken from them until they reach the last vat when the beet pulp is of no further use except to be used as fodder for live stock. The juice remains in the tanks, and in color it is--"

"Red!" cried Van, thoughtlessly interrupting.

"No, son, not red. It is black as ink."

"Black!" exclaimed the boys in a chorus.

"Black as your shoe."

"But--but I don't see how they--" Van stopped, bewildered.

"They bleach it by injecting fumes of sulphur gas into the tanks; lime is also used to--"

"To clear it after the dirt has come to the top," put in the boys in a breath.

"Exactly so," laughed Mr. Powers. "I observe you are now at the home plate."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THESE TANKS ARE CONNECTED"]

"We saw it done at the sugar-cane refinery," explained Bob.

"I see," nodded Mr. Powers. "Well, the principle of making beet-sugar is the same as cane-sugar. By the use of chemical solutions the juice is cleared until it is perfectly white."

Bob nudged Van with his elbow and the lads smiled understandingly.

There was no danger of their forgetting Mr. Hennessey and his secret chemical formula.

"The remainder of the process is also similar to that used in refining cane-sugar. The syrup pa.s.ses from tank to tank, constantly thickening, and the mola.s.ses is extracted in the same fas.h.i.+on by being thrown off in the centrifugal machines when the sugar crystallizes. Mola.s.ses is often boiled two and three times to make second and third grade mola.s.ses for the trade, and you must remember in this connection that the names _New Orleans_ and _Porto Rico_ do not necessarily indicate where the product was made, but rather its quality, these varieties being of the finest grade."

Mr. Powers rose and drew out a cigar.

"I think I'm quite a lecturer, don't you?" he said. "I imagine your father, Van, could have told you this story much better than I have if you could have captured him for two hours on a train when he had nothing else to do. As it is I have had to fill his place, and I want you to inform him with my compliments that I am surprised to discover how completely he has neglected his son's education."

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye Mr. Powers pa.s.sed into the smoking-car.

CHAPTER XII

THE DAWN OF A NEW YEAR

On their arrival at Denver Van and Bob were met by Mr. Blake, and a delay in the train admitted of a pa.s.sing greeting between Mr. Powers and Van's father; afterward the heavy express that had safely brought the travelers to their journey's end thundered on its way and the boys were left on the platform. Mr. Blake regarded each of them keenly for a moment before speaking; then he extended his hand to Bob, saying:

"The highest compliment I can pay you, young man, is to tell you you are like your father. Mrs. Blake and I are very grateful to you for what you've done for our son."

"I'm afraid--" protested Bob.

Mr. Blake cut him short.

"There, there, we won't discuss it," said he. "I simply wish you to know that both of us have appreciated your friends.h.i.+p for Van. He is a scatter-brained young dog, but he is all we have, and we believe in time he is going to make good. Eh, son?" Despite the words he smiled down at the lad kindly.

"I hope so, Father."

"With a wise friend at your elbow it will be your own fault if you do not," his father declared.

Summoning a porter to carry the luggage the trio followed him to the train which was to take them to the small town outside of Denver, where the Blakes resided.

Here they found Van's mother--very beautiful and very young, it seemed to Bob; a woman of soft voice and pretty southern manner who seemed always to appear in a different gown and many floating scarfs and ribbons. Bob felt at a glance that she would not be the sort of person to pack boxes of goodies and send to her boy; she would always be too busy to do that. That she was, nevertheless, genuinely fond of Van there could be not the smallest doubt, and she welcomed both boys to the great stone house with true Virginian hospitality.

To describe that western sojourn would be a book in itself.

Bob wrote home to his parents volumes about his good times, and still left half the wonders of his Colorado visit untold. There was the trip up Pike's Peak; a two days' jaunt to a gold mine; a horseback ride to a large beet farm in an adjoining town; three weeks of real mountain camping, the joy of which was enhanced by the capture of a good sized bear. In addition to all this there were several fis.h.i.+ng trips, and toward the close of the holiday a tour to the Grand Canyon.

It was a never-to-be-forgotten vacation crowded with experiences novel and delightful.

"I wonder, Van, how you can ever be content to leave all this behind and come East to school," remarked Bob to his chum when toward the last of September they once more boarded the train and turned their faces toward Colversham.

"Oh, you see, Dad was born in the East, and he wanted me to have an eastern education," explained Van. "He laughs at himself for the idea though, and says it is only a sentimental notion, as he is convinced a western school would do exactly as well. He has lived out here twenty years now, and yet he still has a tender spot in his heart for New England. It is in his blood, he declares, and he can't get it out. Notwithstanding his love for the East, however, Mother and I say that wild horses couldn't drag him back there to live."

"I suppose you wouldn't want to come East, either," Bob said.

"Not on your life! Give me lots of hustle and plenty of room!"

replied Van emphatically. "But I like the East and the eastern people, and I'll be almighty tickled to get back to Colversham and the fellows--to say nothing of Tim McGrew."

"You'll take up football again this fall, of course," said Bob.

"We'll both duff right in with the practice squad as soon as the boys get out; it seems to me there is no earthly reason why each of us shouldn't land somewhere on the eleven this year."

Weeks afterward Bob thought with a grim smile of the remark.

How different that fall term proved to be from anything he had expected!

Colversham was reached without disaster and back into the chaos of trunks, suit-cases, and swarming arrivals came the western travelers. From morning until night a stream of boys crossed and recrossed the campus and the air was merry with such characteristic greetings as:

"Ah, there, Blakie! How is the old scout?"

"Snappy work, Bob Carlton! I say, you look pretty kippie. Where did you swipe the yellow shoes?"

"Just wearing them temporarily until I can step into yours as stroke of the crew!" called back Bob good-naturedly.

A shout went up from the boys who had heard the sally.

For nearly a week the school grounds were a-hum with voices. Then things began to settle down into the regular yearly routine. In spite of the stiff program ahead Van managed to spend some part of each day, if only a few moments of it, with Tim McGrew. How much there was to tell! Three months had worked marvels in the little fellow and it was a pleasure to see how his strength was returning.

"The doctor thinks there's a chance I may walk yet, Mr. Blake!"

exclaimed the child. "He doesn't promise it, mind; he just says maybe things won't turn out as bad as we thought at first. I heard him tell Ma that perhaps later if I was to be operated on maybe I'd pull through and surprise everybody. Think of it! Think what it means to know there is even a chance. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I should walk again some time?"