The Author

The Author A man was coming to stay with us at our little farm, this was years ago when someone who could read the papers was an intellectual or if not a clever dick too smart for his own good. The writer was supposed to work too, as to get the feel of farm life. But he was weedy didn’t want to help with mucking out in the barn in the morning, he had to go back to his typewriter. Finally, his manuscript was done he left a big eater he was not missed. Two years later when the book came out it has little to do with us but how hard he had suffered pretending he was a child slave and much was written about this, but no one came to our farm asking us about the man. Time has changed today people would have asked questions and not taking printed words for granted