For seven years there had been too little rain. The prairies were dust. Day after day, summer after summer, the scorching winds blew the dust and the sun was brassy in a yellow sky. Crop after crop failed. Again and again the barren land must be mortgaged, for taxes and food and next year's seed. The agony of hope ended when there was no harvest and no more credit, no money to pay interest and taxes; the banker took the land. Then the bank failed. (p. 1)

Around and under these pictures on beautifully shiny paper I read that The Gem City of the Ozarks was in The Land of the Big Red Apple in Missouri. Now I knew three Miss states: Miss-issippi, Miss-consin, and Miss-ouri. Paul said, scornfully, that it wasn't Miss-consin, it was Wis-consin, but Wis didn't make sense to me.
Paul and George Cooley were coming...