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Solution Manual for Logic The
Essentials, 1st Edition

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Description:

LOGIC: THE ESSENTIALS concentrates on the fundaments of introductory

logic. Practical in orientation and content, Essentials is loaded with class-
tested, proven practice exercises. The book is tailored to address the needs
of many of today's instructors who are challenged by time constraints but
yet want to instill in their students a solid grasp of basic logical principles
and the requisite skill to apply them in everyday life. This new text is based
on the classic and bestselling textbook, A Concise Introduction to Logic,
and nearly all of the exercises in the correlative chapters, so central to the
effectiveness of that text, have been retained to ensure more than enough
practice for students to master the central concepts. The text focuses
largely on deductive logic, but it contains sufficient treatment of induction
to provide a solid footing for informal fallacies. The result is a
contemporary approach--more focused, more practical, less theoretical--
built on a tradition of precise, elegant, and clear presentation of the subject
matter of logic, both formal and informal.

1. Half Title
2. Title
3. Statement
4. Copyright
5. Dedication
6. Brief Contents
7. Contents
8. Preface
9. Ch 1: Basic Concepts
10. 1.1: Arguments, Premises, and Conclusions
11. 1.2: Recognizing Arguments
12. Section 1.2: Summary
13. 1.3: Deduction and Induction
14. Section 1.3: Summary
15. 1.4: Validity, Truth, Soundness, Strength, Cogency
16. Section 1.4: Summary
17. 1.5: Argument Forms: Proving Invalidity
18. Ch 1: Summary
19. Ch 2: Informal Fallacies
20. 2.1: Fallacies in General
21. 2.2: Fallacies of Relevance
22. 2.3: Fallacies of Weak Induction
23. 2.4: Fallacies of Presumption, Ambiguity, and Illicit Transference
24. 2.5: Fallacies in Ordinary Language
25. Ch 2: Summary
26. Ch 3: Categorical Propositions
27. 3.1: The Components of Categorical Propositions
28. 3.2: Quality, Quantity, and Distribution
29. 3.3: Venn Diagrams and the Modern Square of Opposition
30. 3.4: Conversion, Obversion, and Contraposition
31. 3.5: The Traditional Square of Opposition
32. 3.6: Translating Ordinary Language Statements into Categorical Form
33. Ch 3: Summary
34. Ch 4: Categorical Syllogisms
35. 4.1: Standard Form, Mood, and Figure
36. 4.2: Venn Diagrams
37. 4.3: Rules and Fallacies
38. 4.4: Reducing the Number of Terms
39. 4.5: Ordinary Language Arguments
40. 4.6: Enthymemes
41. 4.7: Sorites
42. Ch 4: Summary
43. Ch 5: Propositional Logic
44. 5.1: Symbols and Translation
45. 5.2: Truth Functions
46. 5.3: Truth Tables for Propositions
47. 5.4: Truth Tables for Arguments
48. 5.5: Indirect Truth Tables
49. 5.6: Argument Forms and Fallacies
50. Ch 5: Summary
51. Ch 6: Natural Deduction in Propositional Logic
52. 6.1: Rules of Implication I
53. 6.2: Rules of Implication II
54. 6.3: Rules of Replacement I
55. 6.4: Rules of Replacement II
56. 6.5: Conditional Proof
57. 6.6: Indirect Proof
58. 6.7: Proving Logical Truths
59. Ch 6: Summary
60. Ch 7: Predicate Logic
61. 7.1: Symbols and Translation
62. 7.2: Using the Rules of Inference
63. 7.3: Quantifier Negation Rule
64. 7.4: Conditional and Indirect Proof
65. 7.5: Proving Invalidity
66. Ch 7: Summary
67. Answers to Selected Exercises
68. Glossary/Index
Other documents randomly have
different content
 CHAPTER XIV.
Blakely Consults Cameron’s Lawyer.
In rooms upon the second floor of a business block, whose windows
looked down on the main thoroughfare of the country town, were
the offices of Cameron’s lawyer friend. The ground floor of this
building was occupied by firms in various lines of business, and for
the accommodation of the occupants overhead there was on the
outside of the building a stairway leading up from the street.
Standing upon the landing at the head of this stairway, outlined in
shadow by the morning sun against the whitewashed bricks of the
wall, was the picturesque figure of Bill Blakely, awaiting the lawyer’s
arrival.
“Ah, good morning, Bill!” said the latter as he reached the landing,
curiously eyeing his early caller.
“Mornin’, Donald Ban,” returned Bill, as he followed him through the
door. Donald Ban was curious as to the nature of the business which
prompted this unexpected call from Bill. Often, to the discomfort of
Blakely, this same lawyer had opposed his counsel in the settlement
in court of the encounters he had figured in while disposing of the
men who came over from The Gore to argue the cause for the
tainted condition of the creek. Donald Ban had many times
convinced the judge and jury that Blakely had been the offender and
must pay the costs, at least, of the litigation. The lawyer had been
impressed with the candid, matter-of-fact way in which Bill had
accepted these verdicts. His manner upon each occasion seemed to
indicate,—“Well, if the judge and jury say so, I’m willing to pay the
fees of a lawyer smart enough to make them say so. Besides, I have
had my fun out of it, too.” Then he paid up without an objection.
“Sit down, Bill,” said the lawyer in an encouraging tone, for down in
his heart he liked the man. Bill had removed his peaked cloth cap,
showing an intelligent head, covered with a heavy crop of unkempt,
straight, white hair. Donald Ban moved about the room making
comments on general topics, calculated to put his visitor at ease, but
still he was at a loss to account for the appearance of Bill at his
office. Suddenly Bill blurted out this question: “You are a friend of
Andy Cameron, ain’t you, Donald Ban?”
“Yes,” replied the lawyer. “He is a client, and a friend of mine, also.”
“Well, so am I a friend of Cameron, and you can write that in the
papers, too, when you make them out,” and Bill turned in his chair
facing the lawyer, who had now seated himself at the opposite side
of the office table. “Nick Perkins from The Gore,—you know him,
too, I suppose, don’t ye?”
“Yes, I know him,” answered the other, still waiting for his clue to the
situation. Bill during his last question had reached down into the
lining of his vest and had taken therefrom an oblong package,
inclosed in a wrapping which showed the signs of much handling
and tied about with a soiled string. He laid it on the table before
him, then continued: “Donald Ban, you are a good lawyer, and for
that reason I never wanted you on my side. Mine was always the
wrong side, and I was a-feared that you would make the jury say it
was the right side, when I knew all the time it wasn’t. This is the
time, though, Donald Ban, that I am here to see you the first thing.”
Bill had risen and was leaning forward, his two hands resting upon
the table. “In these papers,” he continued, “these papers that Nick
Perkins holds against Andy Cameron, do they mention ‘on or before,’
or only mention that it is ‘on’ the certain day they are due?” The
lawyer, noting the intense earnestness and excitement of Blakely,
answered at once that the form of the mortgage held by Perkins
against the Cameron properties read that “on or before the first day
of October of that year, they were due and payable, and——”
“That’s enough, Donald Ban—all I wanted to know. It is now one
day before, and you write it down in the papers and tell Andy when
he comes back that a friend of his—you needn’t mind putting it
down there as who it was—put up the cash and beat the hypocrite
Perkins out at his own game. Count out what you want from that
package, Donald Ban, and give the rest to me. Perkins will be along
pretty soon now, and when he comes I want you to have it all ready
for him to sign off his claim against the Camerons on The Front.”
The lawyer, taken so completely by surprise, was at a loss to know
what to say. “Cameron will be back soon, mark what I am telling
you,” Bill continued, “and if he has made nothing, I will be a safer
man for him to owe money to than Nick Perkins.”
 CHAPTER XV.
Cameron’s Resolve.
It was the end of September. The wind blew violently, the faint light
of the pale moon, hidden every other instant by the masses of dark
clouds that were sweeping across the sky, whitened the faces of the
two silent watchers in the chamber of the sick. Under the same
hospitable roof where Barbara had fallen exhausted at the feet of
her husband, she now lay prostrated by a raging fever. Standing
near the foot of the couch, alert for a sign of returning
consciousness, Cameron watched by turns with his friend the
passing of the life of his devoted wife, which now hung in the
balance by only a slight thread. In her rational moments during the
days when the burning fever would be lowest, Barbara had told the
story of the persecution of the Cameron family by Nick Perkins, the
insinuating gossip set afloat by Fraser, the carpenter, the defense in
their behalf made by Bill Blakely and the kindnesses offered them by
Angus Ferguson and Davy Simpson, the blacksmith. LeClare had
divined the truth long before his friend Cameron, that the relentless
fever raging in the brain and body of the proud, determined woman
must soon burn her life’s taper to the end.
All the available medical skill and the tenderest nursing would not
arrest the progress of the fever, and Cameron, too, at last despaired
of the life of his beloved. The doctors had told him that the end was
nearing, and now he sat by the side of the couch, never for a
moment removing his gaze from the face of the sick one. As the
hour of midnight approached, the eyes of the patient opened slowly,
and the look of intelligence brought a ray of joy to his heart. Feebly
she murmured as he bent over her to catch every precious syllable.
“I am going now, Andy,” she whispered. “Say good-bye to Dan for
me. I loved you too much to hear them say you had deserted me,
and that’s why I came to find you. You won’t blame me, will you?”
and he answered her by smoothing her feverish brow. “Make me
only this promise, Andy,” she continued with great difficulty, for her
strength was quickly going, “that you take me back with you. And if
Nick Perkins has taken our home from us, then go direct to the
graveyard by the little church.”
Then the soft love light in her eyes faded out as she sank quietly
away into the pillows, her lips slightly parted and the long eyelashes
drooping from the half-closed lids. The proud spirit had taken its
flight. It was in the twilight of that mysterious country called Death,
and for a moment, as Cameron stood by the side of the cot, the veil
seemed to part from before the throne of Glory, and beckoning to
him to follow, he saw the spirit of his loved one borne safely hence
by the angels of peace. A great sob shook his frame, and as he
stood up, gazing at the lifeless form of his devoted wife, he
exclaimed in indignant agony: “Murdered! Their infernal gossip has
done this, and here, in the presence of the angel of death, I vow
that I shall live to avenge this innocent soul.”

Together they journeyed homeward. LeClare was greatly concerned

over the change which had taken place in his friend. The
transformation so suddenly accomplished in the man reminded him
of the instances told of how, from a terrible fright at the sudden
approach of danger, reason had been restored to the unbalanced
mind. In the case of Cameron, however, where before he had been
content to follow, acquiescing without objection or comment to the
conditions which surrounded him, awaiting always a suggestion from
his partner to act out the inclination which had arisen in his own
mind, he had now suddenly assumed the rôle of leader, and so
naturally, it appeared, that no indecision was manifest because of his
recent acquirement of the office. That primitive charm of manner,
that honest, simple style of the Glengarry farmer, which had so won
the confidence of LeClare when traversing the same route in going
to the gold fields, had now upon their return trip given place to
personal traits of even greater significance. The new development of
character in his friend showed LeClare at every turn the master mind
awakening. Grief had rudely torn away the mask from the
uncharitable, had laid bare the deceit of the untrue and the
wickedness of the hypocrite. The death of his wife, Barbara, had
removed the object of his unselfish love, and to LeClare it was very
evident that the future had in store for those who figured in the
events consequent to Cameron’s leaving The Front, a destiny more
or less happy, according as they should be judged upon the return of
the prospector to his home.
 CHAPTER XVI.
The Return of the Gold Diggers.
They were now nearing the station at a mile back from The Front.
Cameron had acquainted LeClare with the simple funeral
arrangements he wished carried out as soon after their arrival as
possible. One precaution he insisted must be taken, and that was, to
allow no indication to appear of their possession of wealth. The
significance of this request LeClare well understood. At the call of
the station stop for The Front, the two men alighted, and hurrying
forward, superintended the removal of the copper-lined casket
beneath whose sealed cover was the body of the courageous woman
that so lately had gone in search of the husband who now would live
to do for those in kind who had done for the departed.
Cameron stood by the side of the rough box upon the platform, as
the noise from the fast disappearing express train grew faint and
died away in the distance. For a moment he was lost in thought.
Knowing him to be in the company of Cameron, the keeper of the
small depot approached LeClare, and with a jerk of his head toward
a farm wagon and driver cautiously nearing, as if fearing to obtrude,
he said in a hushed voice,—
“It’s Andy’s Dan. He’s been a-waitin’ fer ’im.”
Twice a week and sometimes oftener during the October month, so
Cameron was afterward told by the neighbors, Andy’s Dan was seen
regularly to drive back to the railroad station, and there remaining at
a respectful distance, watch for a passenger who might alight from
the through train from the West. Then seeing no familiar face to
reward his coming, he would turn away and drive back to the farm
at The Nole to come again another day.
Startled from his reverie by the remark of the station master,
Cameron turned to see the conveyance drawn up by the platform at
his side. Andy’s Dan alighted from the vehicle and clasped the
outstretched hand of his bereaved brother in silence. Still without
exchanging a word, they walked over to the side of the long box.
Then, as if suddenly remembering, Dan looked into his brother’s
face, a sad smile playing upon his features.
“We can take her home, Andy,” he said. “Bill Blakely told me to tell
ye that when you come.”

In the centre of the burying-ground, set back from the roadway and
raising its spire heavenward above the tombstones at either side, the
church at The Front reposes among the graves. One by one these
monuments had been reared, till now they marked a place where a
loved one had been taken to rest from each of the families at The
Front.
A mound of freshly dug earth, thrown up upon the sod in one corner
of the inclosure, told of a newly made grave. A cold November rain
had been falling, accompanied by a chilling wind, which came in
fitful gusts. The over ripe, deadened stalks of the golden-rod beat
against the board fence, rapping at intervals like the weather strips
upon a deserted house. The drops of water fell aslant from the
eaves of the church roof, and a horse, meagrely covered, shivered
beneath the shed at the rear. Bill Blakely had placed in a convenient
corner of the shed the pick and shovel he had been using, then
backing his horse from under cover, he drove over to the farm at
The Nole. Information had spread among the neighbors that
Cameron had returned to The Front bringing with him the remains of
his wife. No further news were they able to gather, but to Davy
Simpson, Angus Ferguson, Bill Blakely and a few others, Cameron
had sent a special message, saying that as friends to himself and the
departed he wished them to be present at the funeral to take place
from The Nole the following afternoon.
Meanwhile Cameron had also dispatched his friend LeClare with Dan
as his driver, bearing a note to his lawyer friend up at the county
village. To them the import of the note appeared to be nothing more
than a request for his friend to attend upon the following day, but
later, at the farm, as he saw the lawyer place upon the coffin in the
front room a beautiful wreath of the purest white lilies, LeClare knew
that Andy’s orders had been telegraphed to the city. The best
undertaker the county afforded was in charge of the details, with
instructions to slight nothing in the arrangements and the assurance
that his bill of expenses would be promptly met.
Cameron greeted his friends by a cordial grasp of the hand. A new
dignity of manner impressed itself upon his old neighbors. His
bearing at this time was that of a man of a great reserve force,
softened through the medium of sorrow. Kindly he thanked the few
friends who had come to him, and together upon the arrival of the
clergyman they assembled in the front room to fulfill the last request
of the departed—that, surrounded by her friends and family, her
pastor should offer a prayer, and then in the graveyard by the small
church near her home they should lay her at rest.
 CHAPTER XVII.
Cameron Outlines His Policy.
The Winter drew on apace. At Laughing Donald’s carpenters and
workmen had been busily employed within and without the house
for weeks. Soon the premises took on a finished look, and the
workmen departed as mysteriously as they had come. In the new
home, the wife of Laughing Donald presided, directing her servants
with that natural grace and dignity which is the certain indication of
a lady born. Andy Cameron since his return had not spent a night at
his house at The Nole, and now LeClare and Dan also joined the
family at Laughing Donald’s.
Soon after the return of Cameron, Bill Blakely and he drove to the
county town and to Donald Ban’s, the lawyer’s. Together they
climbed the stairway to the office each had sought before. Bill
leading the way.
“Morning to ye, Donald Ban,” said Bill, in a voice unusually soft for
him. The lawyer asked his callers to be seated. “You know, don’t ye,”
continued Bill, as he clutched his cloth cap, “that I said he’d be back
soon,”—nodding toward Cameron, who had seated himself
comfortably by the table, apparently having no uneasiness about the
outcome of the consultation.
“Yes, Bill,” answered Donald Ban. “You have the right stuff in you to
make any man proud to be called your friend, and you not only
outwitted your old acquaintance, Nick Perkins from The Gore,
causing him the most bitter disappointment of his unenviable career,
but you performed a service which, at the time, you did for a poor
but honest neighbor. We have all understood your motives
thoroughly, and in acting for Mr. Cameron, when I return to you the
amount of money which you advanced to save for him his home and
good name, I can truthfully say that with it you have the gratitude of
the wealthiest and most distinguished citizen of the County
Glengarry.”
Blakely looked from one to the other, not knowing whether he had
heard or understood aright. Cameron smiled assuringly as he
slapped his old fighting friend upon the shoulder. “Bill,” he said, “we
will be very busy this Winter and all next Summer, you and I. We will
let the waters of the creek flow on to The Gore unmolested. We will
let Fraser, the carpenter, go on with his tattling about the neighbors.
We will keep them all guessing, Bill. My friend LeClare and I want to
see you very soon at Laughing Donald’s—and, by the way, Bill, don’t
mention the remark you heard Donald Ban make about some friend
of yours having a little spare money.”
Bill looked at Andy with the old mischievous twinkle in his eye, his
goatee began to move up and down, and he was in his old time
mood again. “Well, Andy,” he replied, “they say these lawyers often
tell more than the truth, but anyhow, when you and your friend run
a little short, you know where Bill Blakely lives,” and he went out of
the door, telling Cameron he could find him at the grocery when he
was ready to return.
Cameron and his friend were left to themselves for the first time
since their home-coming. His visit to the lawyer was for a twofold
purpose: the first, to fulfill the legal requirements necessary in
discharging his money obligations to Blakely; that disposed of, he
proceeded to lay before the lawyer the plans he intended at once to
put into execution.
“Donald Ban, with your approval and under your suggestion, and
also urged by necessity, I made the venture against overwhelming
odds which fate has seen fit to reward by giving me the possession
of a great wealth in gold. You also know that in the obtaining of one
coveted means by which I am enabled to relieve the suffering and
discomfort of others, I have sacrificed the companionship of her
through whom the blessing to accrue from this new-found wealth
would have been dispensed; and now that my life has been clouded
by sorrow, and I shall no longer enjoy the home where together we
strove in an atmosphere hallowed by an unselfish love to help carry
the burdens of our fellow beings, this same injustice of things—the
uncharitableness, the unkindness from those of whom we expect
comfort while in reverses, only to be by them the most neglected—
has aroused within me emotions that have been the means of
bringing before you to-day a different Andy Cameron from the one
who before was acting merely by the suggestion of others. My
purpose in the future at The Front and in Glengarry will be to see
justice charitably dispensed: the weak shall be made strong, and
from him at The Gore, who has grown powerful by his artful
practices against the unfortunates in our community, I will take and
return to them whom he has so oppressively wronged.”
Donald Ban was astonished at the change in the man before him,
but he was quick to recognize the genius of a quickly developing
brain.
“I presume, Cameron, you have made reference to Nick Perkins,
who has been more or less successful in bringing a great deal of
unhappiness into the families residing in your neighborhood.”
“Remarkably true you have guessed, Donald Ban, and as my legal
adviser, you are entitled to my confidence in so far as it pertains to
the expenditures I have in contemplation at my homestead on The
Nole and among some of my neighbors at The Front. Roughly
speaking, you have deposited for me in the several banks down in
the city three hundred thousand dollars. As nearly as LeClare and
myself can figure, that amount represents our individual worth.
Donald Ban,” continued Cameron, thoughtfully tapping the leathern
topped desk at which they sat, “Nick Perkins has extracted from the
people of our town at The Front in the neighborhood of thirty
thousand dollars. That amount he shall pay back to these same
farmers during the present Winter and the coming Summer. With
fifty thousand dollars I can erect a mansion upon the site of my
farmhouse at The Nole. Upon its completion Nick Perkins will buy
this palace. He shall buy it, Donald Ban!”—Cameron banged the
table with his clenched fist—“and eighty thousand dollars will be my
price. At that time thirty thousand of the amount will already be in
the pockets of the people whom he has harassed for years, and the
actual cost of the house you will deposit for me again in the bank
from which we will draw for expenses during construction. This
much you are to know from me, and I am aware my confidence in
you leaves it a secret between us. I will bid you good morning, and
thank you, Donald Ban. My home is with Laughing Donald.”

You know where Bill Blakely Lives.

 CHAPTER XVIII.
The Ice Raft.
The beginning of Winter found Cameron and LeClare comfortably
settled in the refitted home of Laughing Donald; and under the
gentle yet queenly direction of his wife the members of the new
household lived amidst surroundings of comfort and domestic
happiness.
In one end of the house a small room with windows looking out
upon the great river had been furnished as an office for business. In
this room many conferences with strangers to The Front had been
held of late, and here LeClare and the architect from the city
carefully examined the plans from which would be builded the House
of Cariboo. To his friend Cameron had given in charge that part of
his project which required the experience of one who was familiar
with the accompaniments of homes builded for beauty of
architecture, displaying a refinement of taste; but for himself, as he
explained, he wished to reserve the privilege of dispensing among
his neighbors the expenditures for materials which could be supplied
from their farms while building the mansion as proposed.
In this same little room during the Winter days Cameron and LeClare
often visited together. They talked of their plans for the future, of
the task before them in the Springtime, but never of the camp in the
Cariboo, nor their returning, which so sadly had been ended. At one
of these conferences, on a stormy day of early Winter, as LeClare,
seated before the fire in the grate, was reading from a selection of
new books he had bought while upon one of his recent trips to the
city, he was suddenly interrupted by his friend, who till then had
been idly standing, one hand upon the window pane, the other
fumbling the watch chain at his vest.
“I have just thought, Edmond,” he began, “as I have looked out
upon this icebound expanse, this great river which for months of the
year is the busy highway of so much traffic, that now it is bound, like
ourselves, to await the pleasure of the season, inactive, only waiting.
Perhaps you may think my deductions commonplace, Edmond; but
hear me through. Since the beginning of Glengarry’s history there
have been, to my knowledge at least, no innovations to disturb the
serenity of the established customs of our people, and these
customs are few to relate. In the Summer we labor a little and house
our crops, that in the Winter we may comfortably live to consume
them. The following year, and the years to come, the same highly
exciting programme is certain to be followed. For the coming
Summer we have provided the diversion of the building of our
mansion, but for the lonesome days of our snowbound season we
have not provided. Why not advertise our Summer engagement at
The Nole, and interest our friends in advance?”
Soon after the conversation held in the library at Laughing Donald’s
a team hitched to a farmer’s sled was slowly passing in the roadway.
The driver, carefully selecting an opening between the deep
snowdrifts piled high on the river embankment, turned his horses
abruptly to the left and drove them down the incline and out upon
the frozen river. Quickly he dumped the load of cobblestones in a
heap upon the snow and ice. Thus returning at intervals of an hour
each day, Bill Blakely was engaged throughout the week, till irregular
lines of stone heaps covering a considerable area of the river
fronting Cameron’s house stood as monuments to his labors.
Since Cameron and LeClare had taken up their residence with
Laughing Donald speculation over their reported doings was at fever
heat in the neighborhood. Fraser, the carpenter, was frequently
called on by his friends from The Gore, but his own lack of
information concerning Cameron’s future plans aroused to a greater
curiosity the contingent from the adjoining town, of which Nick
Perkins was the acknowledged leader. Still smarting from the
humiliating blow over his failure to secure the Cameron homestead,
Perkins nursed his wrath in silence. A resolve had already formed in
his evil mind to pursue even to the finish the destinies of the
Camerons at The Front, and already his machinations could be seen
at work in the questions he directed at those he met as he drove
along the snow-heaped roads.
It was on a Saturday, and Perkins was on his way to the county
town, when he met Bill Blakely coming up into the roadway, after
having deposited a load of stones upon the ice. Filled with
wonderment at what he saw, he inquired of Bill in his blandest tones
what he was drawing the stones for.
“Well, Perkins,” replied Bill, “to be truthful with you, it’s for a dollar a
load I am doing it principally, but another good reason is that
Cameron has asked me to do it. If you think you’d like the job, go
ask Cameron. They say his credit is good. Even you ought to know
that, Mr. Perkins,” and Bill passed on without saying good-day to
him. Perkins bit his lip and made no reply, but drove on to the
village.
Other farmers from the neighborhood soon began hauling to the
dumping grounds on the river facing the farm at The Nole. Angus
Ferguson had hauled to Cameron’s ice raft, as he called it, the old
stone wall which had for so long disfigured the view in front of his
house. Stopping each evening at the little office at Laughing
Donald’s, he received, like the rest, a dollar a load for the number of
trips he had made during the day.
The work of the farmers whom Cameron had seen fit to employ, and
who seemed to vie one with another in quickly disposing of the
useless materials collected about their farm-yards and disfiguring
their homes, progressed so rapidly that ere long whole acres of the
frozen river front resembled a congested lumber yard. The fabulous
prices paid to them by Cameron for the worthless accumulations of
their farm-yards, which he had placed upon the ice to be carried
away with the floods in the Spring, caused a storm of comment, the
echo of which came over from The Gore in volumes of inquiries.