--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Johnston, H. L. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 27 number: 4 published: 1924-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "H. L. Johnston, “Dross,” *Improvement Era 27, no. 4 (February 1924)*: 368–370." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2704unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2704unse start_page: 368 end_page: 370 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1924-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2704unse publication_year: 1924 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1924, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Dross DROSS By H. L. Johnston It had been thrown into a pile of rubbish, that big round ball of glittering brassiness. It had caught the eye of Billy as he came in from feeding the hungry, bawling cattle on the farm of his employer, Sam Ellison. Billy had only worked for Ellison for two weeks, but he was already beginning to think that of all task-masters, Sam Ellison was the worst. He seemed stingy, too, for all he would pay was fifty cents a day and board. Sam Ellison had told Billy that fifty cents a day was good wages for a boy of fourteen. It was far more than Sam had received at that age. Billy had come from Peoria, sent to Ellison's farm by his father to get him away from the Knoxville Avenue gang of youthful rowdies. There had been other reasons, too, but the most important rea- son of any, was the fact that Billy's stern and busy father had found out that his only son was losing a sterling quality — honesty. Billy's father had talked to him kindly, explaining that things possessed dishonestly never did a fellow any good. They merely turned to dross right in your hands- But Billy, not knowing what his father meant had considered himself a very badly abused young man. He figured he had done no more than the rest of the gang had done. The other boys had not been sent to a muddy ill-smelling cow ranch to slave their lives away. Billy was very much disgruntled with his father and the world at large. At first this life on the farm, being a novelty to Billy, city bred as he was, had held a slight fascination, speedily dispelled when he found himself routed out at four in the morning to start what he called a hard day's work. As the days passed it became a settled con- viction that Sam Ellison had been born without a heart. As Billy sat with Ellison and his wife at supper he heard his employer say: "I sold a lot of junk to the rag man this afternoon. He gave me sixty cents a pound for old brass." Billy's ears pricked up as he thought of that ball of brass he had found hidden in the rubbish pile. A scheme was beginning to form in his fertile brain. A scheme by which he could even up with Sam Ellison for paying him fifty cents a day. The next day, when Billy passed the rubbish pile he looked slyly around. There was not a soul in sight. He walked over and picked the ball up. It was very heavy; ten pounds or over. He made a laborious mental calculation and at last whistled in astonishment. "Phew! Just think of it! Maybe six dollars worth of brass DROSS 369 in that ball, and old skinflint doesn't know it is here." Glancing about with furtive eyes, Billy kicked more rubbish over his treasure and then went to his stock feeding. ' "I'll show old Ellison to pay me fifty cents a day and then try to get a man's work out of me — the old miser. That six dollars will just about make up for what I'm worth," he muttered to himself as he chopped the corn for the cattle. Billy's mind was made up by supper time that night- He was going to steal the brass ball and quit Sam Ellison flat. With the money due for wages and the six dollars for the brass he would steal onto one of the big river steamers and start out on a great adventure. It would never do for him to show up around his home. His father would only send him back to his taskmaster. No, he would keep away from his father. He knew a junk dealer on Washington street who would be glad to traffic with him for the brass. Accordingly, that night after supper he stole out to the pile of rubbish, put the ball in a gunny sack and hid it under a culvert a mile from the house. At the breakfast table the next morning he said: "I'm quitting you, Mister Ellison." "What for?" "Work too hard." "Oh, you'll get used to that. I was that way when I first started." "Fifty cents a day isn't enough money." "Why! That's fifteen dollars a month," said Ellison, "A boy your age should be tickled to get that much. I only got thirty a month after I was a grown man." "I don't care, I'm going to quit," replied Billy sulkily. "I want my wages. I've got seven dollars coming." Ellison laughed. "When your Daddy brought you up here, Billy, he thought you might want to do that. He told me not to give you a cent." The boy's face fell and the food he was eating seemed to choke him- "That's no way to do," he mumbled. "Yes it is, Billy. He told me what was wrong with you and your gang. He's an old friend of mine, son. I promised him that I would help start a foundation for a real man for you. He doesn't want you to be a quitter. Your father never was a quitter, Billy. Tell me now, is the work too hard?" "Yes it is. Working from four in the morning until dark is too much for anybody." "Teddy Rothman is your age. He does more work than you do, Billy." 3 70 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Yes, but he's been on a farm all his life. That makes a dif- ference." "He'll grow up and be a man to be proud of, though, some day. Just as your Daddy wants you to be. When school starts you can go and get your fifty cents a day also." "I hate this smelly old farm," said Billy, finishing his breakfast and going to the barn. A little later Sam Ellison hitched up and drove to a far neigh- bor's. As soon as he had left, Billy slipped into his room and gath- ered up his few belongings and stole to the culvert. It was but the work of a moment or two until Billy had pulled the bag with its treasure from under the culvert, swung it over his shoulder and started for Peoria, eighteen miles to the south. As the hours passed, and the smoke of the big city seemed to creep toward him at a snail's pace, the ball of brass grew heavier and heavier- Soon, it seemed to his aching arms and shoulders that it weighed a ton. The time for resting was growing shorter and shorter between intervals, until it seemed as if he were resting most of the time and the pangs of hunger were adding to his bodily discomfort. At one of his resting places he took a look at his treasure. "Six dollars!" he exclaimed, "wouldn't Sam Ellison have a fit, if he only knew?" Throwing the heavy bag over his shoulder he plodded painfully onward. It was nearing six p. m. when Billy staggered into the junk shop of Isaac Silverstein. He dropped the load on the floor and dropped wearily upon a pile of old sacks. The proprietor came to- ward him, a questioning look in his eyes. "Brass — in sack," said Billy, nearly too much all in to talk. Silverstein rolled the ball out and placed it on his scales. "Ten pounds," he said looking at the weight with near-sighted eyes. "At sixty cents a pound," added Billy. "Yes. Yes," said Silverstein adjusting his glasses and gazing hard at the ball, "for brass, but, this is not brass." "What are you trying to hand me?" asked Billy, jumping up from the pile of sacks. He was a city boy. He would show this junk dealer that he couldn't play a trick on him. Silverstein picked up a hatchet and hit the ball a mighty lick. It fell in half, and Billy gazed in sickening amazement as he saw merely a thin skin of brass filled with plaster of paris. "Dross," said the Jew- "I pay nothing for dross. Where " But Billy was gone. He was now slowly and painfully retrac- ing his way back to the farm of Sam Ellison. This time he would stay. He had found out, in a striking way, what his father meant by dross. To bar, Nevada