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"Notice," said Doc, "how he draws in his breath first and then he crows. Then he finishes off with a sort of eh-h-hh, like a sigh." A few moments passed and the unseen little cock obliged again. Doc laughed. "He starts off like he's telling the world how virile he is and ends up like an old man glad that it's all over." Doc turned the ignition key and headed for home.

To Henry A. Campbell home is Gardena, California. And Gardena, immediately south of Los Angeles is a kind of miniature Las Vegas offering as it does a little legalized gambling and a smattering of night life. Doc prefers, however, to seek his diversion in the back yard of his comfortable, attractive home. The usual two-car garage, modest landscaping and a couple of fruit trees make it a place for gentle relaxation. Oh yes, and his ever-present bantams.

BANTAMS HAVE never ceased to delight Campbell, a fancier of some twenty-four years. Nine of those years Doc has resided in Gardena where he breeds, raises and sells bantams under the name of H. A. Campbell & Son. Prior to that time Lincoln, Nebraska, was home to the Campbell clan. To hear Doc tell it, "Thirty-six of us left Lincoln for sunny California: My wife, my son, myself and thirty-three chickens." The latter were the nucleus of the fine modern game bantams Doc is famous for today.

"Bantams are booming," Campbell says. "They've been raised in this country for over 100 years but there's more interest in them now than ever before. Our cities are becoming overcrowded and people are moving to the suburbs. A lot of them put in barbecues and patios, but many have rediscovered the bantam. They find with these little chickens a fascinating, healthful pastime, a sense of pride and, more often than not, a good financial return."

Exactly what is a bantam, anyway? Simply put, it's one of two things. Either it's a duplicate of a large chicken but only one-fifth the size, or it's an honest-to-goodness bantam having no counterpart in larger breeds but kept for ornamental purposes only.

"Men, women and children from eight to eighty-odd raise them," Campbell points out. "Their eggs are an ideal size for children and invalids. They require very little space and make small demands on your time. My own bantams can be adequately cared for in two short fifteen-minute periods a day if I'm pressed for time."

Doc's own layout is modest to the extreme. It's entirely contained in a two-car garage and a fenced-in area next to it which is the same size as the garage. And there is still room for the family car!

The reason that bantams require so little space (aside from the obvious factor of individual size) is that quality is paramount over quantity. While commercial poultrymen deal in thousands of chickens the bantam breeders deals in tens.

"With a little ground to spare," says Doc, "anyone can do what I've done—and even keep space for a patio besides. In these days of do-it-yourself, the cost of pens, runs and brooders can be cut to a minimum. Besides, this is one hobby that pays its own way."

Most breeders handle only two or three different kinds of bantams and Campbell is no exception. His favorites are the Modern Game Bantams; in particular, the Black-Breasted Red Modern Game—a seemingly long title for so slight a chicken weighing a scant pound and a quarter each, feathers and all. The name, too, is really a misnomer for he is not a "game" bird in the old sense of the word. Rather, he is surprisingly gentle; a man made bantam—bred, reared and exhibited for beauty's sake exclusively. The Red Pyle, similar in trim physique but differing in coloration, and some Old English Game bantams make up Campbell's stock—and they're all potential champions. Lloyd E. Riley, a noted breeder of Frizzles—a particularly unique bantam—says of Doc's Modern Game, "The best I've ever seen."

ASIDE FROM his long years of experience, Doc is currently secretary of the Pacific Coast Bantam Club. He's had formal training at two agricultural schools in poultry husbandry and, to top all this, he is a field service representative for a local feed company. This takes in everything from advising on feeding to veterinary practices.

"That's how we tagged Campbell with the nickname 'Doc'," says Richard Somers, a breeder living in Lomita, California. "When I'm ready to vaccinate my Buff Cochins for fowl pox or Newcastle disease I ring up Campbell. Within the hour Doc's pulling into my driveway with his needle and his know-how."

Doc Campbell has know-how when it comes to selling bantams, too. He gets between $35 and $75 for a trio of mature breeders. Sufficient for foundation stock, a trio consists of one male and two females.

To the uninitiated, even $35 seems pretty steep for less than four pounds of chicken and the question was duly put to Campbell: Why $35? Why not—say—$10?

Doc didn't sidestep it.

"Depends on what you want with them," he said. "If you want a few bantams for lawn ornaments the three for $5 stuff is okay. But if you are looking for breeders capable of producing show bantams you're going to have to pay for them. What's more, they're worth the higher price."

Doc explained that breeders value their bantams according to how close they come to standards of perfection set up by the American Poultry Association. This can best be determined by entering birds into competition with other breeders at fairs and shows. The higher the breeder scores, the more his stock is worth.

This being the case, Campbell's bantams must be worth the asking price. He won blue ribbons and 'best of variety' awards in every category entered at the American Bantam Association's national meet at Pomona, California, last September.

"When you buy fine breeders at first," says Doc, "you're getting a thick slice of the former owner's skill along with them. You, in turn, stand a better chance to score and can get top prices when you start selling your own bantams."

Strangely enough Doc does not care to sell hatching eggs or started stock—two seemingly excellent sources of income. "It often leads to grief," he warns. "You see, a breeder values above everything else his reputation. So he guarantees satisfaction no matter if it's eggs or breeders he's merchandising. Now if I ship out a dozen hatching eggs to a prospective breeder and I get a letter from him shortly telling me that only two out of twelve hatched I have to take him at his word. I send him another dozen. Even if that breeder is a person of integrity I have no way of knowing whether he used proper hatching methods or not. In either case I'm out another dozen eggs. It takes the heart out of an otherwise pleasant avocation.

Similarly, Doc looks askance upon the selling of baby chicks and growing stock. "Most established breeders," he says, "sell only mature breeding bantams. That way there is no question as to what you are getting for your money. The proof of the quality of the bird is immediately apparent."

If the newly-initiated bantam fancier insists upon using these methods to put his hobby on an immediate paying basis Campbell suggests a minimum of $1 per hatching egg and $5 a young bird. "If you start in with quality breeders—and as far as I am concerned, they're the only kind—these prices are fair to both you and the other fellow," Doc asserts.

DOC CAMPBELL has a few other words of advice about starting out with bantams. "The really nice thing about them," he says, "is that you have such a big selection. I don't think I am exaggerating when I say that there are more than twenty different breeds and anywhere from one to eight varieties of each breed.

"I know how I felt," Doc recalls, "when I first got the bug. Like a kid in a candy store. I wanted six of these, half a dozen of those and a few of the others."

It's easy to understand how Doc must have felt. There were light breeds, heavy breeds and the true bantams, the purely ornamental breeds. There were chickens with single combs, rose combs, pea combs and strawberry combs. Yes, and even some with feather crests fabulous enough to rival the latest in women's hats. He saw plumage in solid colors, plumage mottled, pencilled and laced. There was the soft, billowy feathering of the Cochin, the hard, taut feathering of the Modern Game, the wispy feathering of the Silkie. Everything from the comic jauntiness of the Japanese bantam—with legs so short it was difficult to tell whether he was sitting or standing, to the gorgeousness of the Mille Fleur—colorful as a pheasant. All these and many more.

"Thinking back on it," says Doc, "I guess it was sheer luck that I didn't get carried away and try to take on everything at once. And, if a quarter of a century of experience with bantams is worth anything, I'd like to give you a piece of advice.

"Attend shows. Look the bantams over. The whole galaxy of them, if you can. Choose a variety you like especially well—one variety—and plan to stick with it. Stick with it for three to five years. To fully understand and develop it will take you that long. Eventually you will reach that stage where you can honestly say that you have developed a strain of your own."

HOW DO you go about getting the foundation stock?

"Well," says Doc, "you could go to a bantam show, flash a wad of money, buy a champion pullet from one breeder, bankrupt yourself by purchasing another breeder's 'best-of-show' cockerel, take them home and start breeding.

"You could, I say—but you'd be making a horrible mistake. You wouldn't be the first to make such a mistake either. It's happened to a lot of people who should know better."

According to Campbell this method is wrong for two reasons. First, contrary to popular opinion, show stock is not always good breeding stock. And second, by purchasing from two different breeders you are buying two birds that look alike but have two entirely different ancestries. The offspring—known as the progeny—of such a mating could be very disappointing.

Many excellent breeding bantams are never seen at the shows. They consistently have ideal young but are, themselves, far from ideal in appearance. Cochin breeders, for example, have so much feathering that some must be cut off if they are to mate successfully. This clipping, of course, disqualifies them from shows.

Bantams of show calibre are usually the result of careful and close in-breeding. The progeny are mated back to their parents. This tends to "fix" their good points. By mixing two unrelated strains (as our make-believe bantam buyer was doing), many of the desirable points that took years to develop would be undone.

Occassionally an established breeder will introduce new blood into his strain. Campbell, himself, does it. But it is not recommended practice for the beginner. Campbell has imported Modern Game bantams from as far away as Scotland. By carefully blending these fine bloodlines with his already famous strain he has developed bantams that any breeder would be proud to exhibit.

Campbell strongly advises you to start with one breed. Stay with it. Buy your first bantams from one breeder. Be sure he is reputable.

You can double-check a breeder's reputation by talking to other breeders. They know what's going on in the fancy and can help you pinpoint the right man. His stock won't come cheap but he'll sell you the best he can produce.

"You might as well buy the best," Doc says, "because it's only common sense that it will cost you just as much to feed a poor bird as a good one."

Speaking of feeding, there is no special feed manufactured for bantams. Standard poultry rations are used. Methods will vary slightly according to breed and individual breeder. For instance, Campbell does not feed a growing mash. He feels it tends to make the bantam too large. He does prefer an all-purpose mash to the compressed pellets, "They fill up too quickly on pellets," says Doc. "Mash keeps them busy and a busy chicken stays out of trouble. If you're in doubt as to feeding, follow the manufacturer's advice and you'll do all right."

HAVING PURCHASED his bantams, the enthusiast can start to realize a small return on his investment. He's getting fresh eggs. Few, only about fifty a year per chicken. And small ones to be sure. It takes eighteen of them to equal that dozen he normally picks up down at the corner grocery.

"Not much when you can buy an egg factory like a Leghorn for a good deal less than those prize bantams," says Doc. "But wait! The chances are that the newly-initiated bantam breeder is not eating those eggs—he's incubating them. Potentially, they're far more valuable than mere breakfast food!"

The fascinating business of incubation interests novice and old-hand alike. There are three ways, according to Campbell, to hatch your eggs. You could invest in an incubator, you can turn the eggs over to someone else—usually commercial hatcheries, and, of course, there is natural incubation.

"Regarding the last, nothing can beat the old reliable Silkie hen," says Doc. "I recommend her wholeheartedly."

The Silkie is a distinct race of bantam and all the name implies. Her white feathers look and feel silky. Some fanciers breed her for show purposes but more often she is kept primarily for incubation and brooding.

"I still keep a couple of Silkies myself," says Doc. "They'll settle down on anything from moth balls to door knobs. They're perfect mothers and ideal baby sitters."

Though Campbell enjoys natural hatching he does have an electric incubator. Incubators cost from twenty to several hundred dollars, depending on size and quality. "You probably won't need one at first," says Campbell, "but if you are considering a purchase, it is well to remember that humidity is as important as temperature. Be sure that it has a good unit for retaining moisture."

The eggs are given identifying marks and placed on wire racks in the incubator. On the seventh day Doc runs a light bulb under them so that the infertile ones may be detected and removed. The fertile eggs are transferred on the nineteenth day to the pedigree trays. These compartmented trays serve to isolate the new-born chicks so that no mistakes are made regarding parentage.

Three weeks after the eggs were first given over to the artificial mother the chick emerges. The new-born chick must then be marked in some way so that its pedigree can be traced at any time.

"I toe-punch them," says Doc, displaying a metal device much like an undersized paper punch. "There are two webs to each foot and by piercing holes in from one to four webs, up to sixteen different combinations are possible."

THE NEXT consideration for the bantam breeding novice is a brooder to replace the warmth normally supplied by the mother hen.

"Brooding is a cinch here in Southern California," says Campbell. "All I use is an infra-red bulb which can be found in any drug store. I hang it about a foot above the chicks in my homemade brooder."

Doc's brooder compares favorably with commercially built ones. Among his other talents he is a competent arc welder and his brooder is made of steel and hardware cloth. He assures us though, that anyone who uses the infrared lamp and can handle a hammer and saw, can make a serviceable brooder out of wood and wire. In colder climates, brooders that operate on gas, coal, wood or kerosene—any fuel that is available and inexpensive can be employed. The advantage with infra-red is that it not only supplies warmth and light but tends to keep the litter dry, as well.

For those living in mild climates, housing problems are simplified, too. Many California breeders make out well with small pens barely two feet high, with wire runs attached. In less favorable climes housing presents more of a challenge but Campbell states that this, and all other information concerning poultry can usually be had, free for the asking, from state agricultural experiment stations, county agents and, feed dealers.

Feed dealers and hardware stores, too, for that matter, afford the novice the opportunity to exploit his bantams. Though Doc has not used this method himself he suggests the possibility of displaying these engaging birds in the windows of these places. Says Campbell, "There are places throughout the country where bantams are a novelty. If you can show your birds you can sell them. What more logical place to call public attention to them than feed and hardware dealers?"

Doc's own sales methods are deceptively simple. He keeps three advertisements running concurrently. Notices regarding his Modern Game bantams can be found in The Poultry Press, a magazine; a bantam newspaper published in nearby Inglewood, California; and a quarter-page advertisement in the yearbook of the American Bantam Association. They bring sufficient results to keep Campbell's operation small but financially healthy.

IF YOU should happen in on Doc Campbell some late afternoon and find him behaving in a most peculiar way, do not become alarmed. You might catch him marching up and down before a battery of small metal cages, talking to no one in particular. Suddenly he stops and points—now at this bantam, now at that one—with a long metal stick.

No, Doc is not bereft of his senses. He is merely doing what most breeders do some weeks before entering their prize bantams in a show or exhibition. He is training his birds, a vital prelude to the actual showing. This training is as important to the show bantam as it is to the bantamweight boxer. The purpose is to adjust the bantam to actual show conditions and to teach him to put his best foot forward, as it were.

Good training is relatively simple but painstaking and time consuming. It works like this. Three or four weeks before the exhibit Doc transfers his show stock to cages identical in size and construction to those used at all bantam shows. He then proceeds to handle the birds as much as possible. You might almost say communicate with them. In his hand he wields a training stick, similar to those employed by poultry judges to jockey a chicken into position so that its good (or bad) points can be noted. If skillfully worked during this period the bantam should respond to the slightest touch at the show. This stick is humanely used. As a matter of fact, Doc's charges actually seem to enjoy their schooling.

And Doc wasn't really talking to himself. It was for the benefit of his bantams; a trick to get them used to the voices and movements of the crowd that will be present at the show.

"I'm for the underdog," says Campbell, "and this show training can really be a boon to the average man. The rich fellow may have a fine string of show stock but he seldom has the time or inclination to train his birds properly. He knows his stuff is good, so he just packs them into shipping crates and ships them off. He figures it's 'in the bag.'

"On the other hand, the middle-class Joe with the nine-to-five job finds relaxation with this phase of bantam raising. After the daily grind he looks forward to working with his birds just before they go to roost—when they're quieting down. He feels a sense of pride in the progress he makes from day to day.

"I mention this because I've seen it happen. More than once I've seen a fair bantam top a better one at a show, and all because one breeder took a little more time with his birds than the other. If you go in for Modern Game bantams this advice is doubly important. Carriage—that tall, graceful reach that Modern Game is noted for—is worth up to ten points on the judge's score card. It's called 'station' and can be greatly improved with a little careful stick-training."

THOUGH CAMPBELL is a dyed in the wool breeder of show bantams he recognizes the values in the so-called utility bantam. For those of a wholly practical turn of mind, he points out that bantams are available that are not only attractive but excellent layers and good meat poultry as well. Rhode Island Reds, Plymouth Rocks and others can be had in miniature, weighing less than one-fourth as much as their standard counterparts. They are not as showy as the ornamental breeds but they more than pay their way.

"With utilities," Doc observes, "you can show your bantams and they make mighty good eating, too."

Sooner or later every breeder is confronted with the problem of disposing of unwanted chickens—or wasters—as they are known. Sometimes a degree of ingenuity is involved. Rather than sell his unwanted stock Doc Campbell has formulated a unique arrangement. Whenever he culls he invites a few friends over for a barbecue. Having a wholly practical turn of mind Doc states that, "One bantam makes an excellent table repast for one person with a hearty appetite."

Should there be an overabundance of wasters Doc turns the surplus over to a neighbor who cooks and cold packs them into jars. She and Campbell split fifty-fifty.

For those who become sentimentally attached to their bantams there are other outlets according to Campbell. More than one breeder has sold his second-class bantams to the Los Angeles Board of Education. They become objects of study and enjoyment for many Los Angeles school children. And, of course, nearly all breeders sell a few of their undesirable charges as pets.

A MUST for breeders of every type of poultry and the accepted guide at all shows is "The American Standard of Perfection." Listed within the covers of this book are descriptions and show requirements of all the recognized breeds and varieties. Fully illustrated, it is published by the American Poultry Association, Davenport, Iowa. "The breeder's handbook," Doc calls it.

There are few books devoted exclusively to bantams. One of the best, in Campbell's opinion, is written by the English breeder W. H. Silk. Ii is called "Bantams and Miniature Fowls," and can be had by sending $1.65 to Poultry World, Ltd., Dorset House, Stamford Street, London, SE. 1, England.

The world's only bantam newspaper is called just that: The World's Only Bantam Newspaper. It carries news, articles, announcements of shows and breeders' advertisements. Fred L. Riley, a breeder himself, publishes it at 933 North Cedar Ave., Inglewood, California.

Finally, the national organization, the American Bantam Association is a good source of information and encouragement for the beginning breeder. For $3 the following happens: You become a member, receive a yearbook, get over thirty lessons on bantam culture, and become entitled to special monetary awards at shows. For those interested the address is George Fitterer, Secretary A.B.A., P.O. Box 464, Chicago 90, Illinois.

"For the hobby-minded the field is wide open," says the senior partner of H. A. Campbell & Son. "Prices are going up and interest in bantams is growing rapidly.

"Whether you keep a few bantams around to dress up your property or utility bantams for economic reasons there are rewards, but the greatest thrill comes with the quality show birds."

Doc Campbell stopped his musing. Perhaps he felt a gentle stirring of some ancestral Scottish blood.