The farmer rode a time in silent thought.  He could not go fast, for the beast was very lame.  Finally he remarked: 

“Ef ye buy up the sign painters, so’s ye can wash off the letters, like enough ye’ll hev to pay him fer th’ paint an’ paintin’, too.”

“I don’t mind,” was the response.

The farmer chuckled.  Here was an interesting adventure, for a fact.  What on earth could possess the “young ’un” from Elmhurst to object to signs, and be willing to pay for having them erased?

“Like enough ye’ll hev to pay back the money the soap an’ medicine men guv th’ painter, too,” he hazarded.

“Like enough,” said Kenneth, grimly.

One of his stubborn moods had seized him.  At all hazards he was resolved to eliminate those ugly signs.

He got the name of the sign painter, accepted a glass of buttermilk at the farm house, and then rode slowly home by another route, so that he might not have to face the signs again.

But on this route he saw even more.  They were painted on the fences and barns as he passed along.  He scowled at each one, but they did not appear to him quite so inharmonious as those which marred the more picturesque and retired spots which were his favorite haunts.

CHAPTER III

DON QUIXOTE

When Kenneth got home he told Mr. Watson of his discovery and asked the old gentleman to write to the sign painter and find out what could be done.  The lawyer laughed heartily at his young friend’s whim, but agreed to help him.

“If you are going to try to prevent rural advertising,” he remarked, “you’ll find your hands full.”

Kenneth looked up smiling.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For finding me something to do.  I’m sick of this inaction.”

Again the lawyer laughed.

“What is your idea?” he asked.

“To remove such eyesores as advertising signs from the neighborhood of
Elmhurst.”

“It’s a Titan’s task, Ken.”

“So much the better.”

The lawyer grew thoughtful.

“I believe it’s impossible,” he ventured.

“Better yet.  I don’t say I’ll succeed, but I promise to try.  I want something to occupy myself—­something really difficult, so that I may test my own powers.”

“But, my dear boy!  This foolish proposition isn’t worthy your effort.  If you want to be up and doing we’ll find something else to occupy your mind.”

“No, Mr. Watson; I’m set on this.  It’s a crime to allow these signs to flaunt themselves in our prettiest scenes.  My instinct revolts at the desecration.  Besides, no one else seems to have undertaken the task of exterminating them.”

“True enough.  If you’re serious, Ken, I’ll frankly say the thing can’t be done.  You may, perhaps, buy the privilege of maintaining the rocks of the glen free from advertising; but the advertisers will paint more signs on all the approaches, and you won’t have gained much.”