"Neighbors usually bid low," she agreed.

"Run up to Topeka and see Baker--he's the sales manager of the
Holstein Breeders' Association. Let him take charge of it
all--he's a straight fellow. He'll charge you enough--fifteen per
cent of the gross receipts, but then he'll see to it that the
people who want good stuff will be there. He knows how and where
to advertise. He's got a big list of names, and can send out
letters to the people that count. He'll bring buyers from Iowa
down to Texas. Remember his name--Baker."

"Yes, Martin--Baker."

"I think you ought to sell the herd anyway," he went on. "I know
you, Rose; you'll be careless about the papers--no woman ever
realizes how important it is to have the facts for the
certificates of registry and transfer just right. I'm afraid
you'll fall down there and get the records mixed. You won't get
the dates exact and the name and number of each dam and sire.
Women are all alike there--they never seem to realize that a
purebred without papers is just a good grade."

Rose made no comment, while Martin changed his position slowly
and lost himself in thought.

"Yes, I guess it's the only thing to do--to get rid of the
purebred stuff. God Almighty! It's taken me long enough to build
up that herd, but a few weeks from now they'll be scattered to
the four winds. Well, it can't be helped. Try to sell them to men
who understand something of their value. And that reminds me,