Hellisotherpeople/Lipogram-e · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 662
him, should go to work in Branton Hills' shopping district, and profit
by it.

"Bah! Why not start a class to show goldfish how to waltz! _I_ didn't
go to any such school; and what am I now? _A Councilman!_ I can't saw a
board straight, nor fry a potato chip; but I can show you folks how to
hang onto your town funds."

Old Bill was a notorious grouch; but our Organization occasionally
did find a totally varying mood. Old Lady Flanagan, with four boys in
school, and a husband many days too drunk to work, was loud in approval.

"Whoops! Thot's phwat I calls a grand thing! Worra, worra! I wish Old
Man Flanagan had had sich an opporchunity. But thot ignorant old clod
don't know nuthin' but boozin', tobacca shmokin' and ditch-diggin'. And
you know thot our Council ain't a-payin' for no ditch-scoopin' right
now. So _I'll_ shout for thot school! For my boys can find out how to
fix thot barn door our old cow laid down against."

Ha, ha! What a circus our Organization had with such varying moods and
outlooks! But, finally such a school was built; instructors brought in
from surrounding towns; and Gadsby was as happy as a cat with a ball of
yarn.

As Branton Hills found out what it can accomplish if it starts out with
vigor and a will to win, our Organization thought of laying out a big
park; furnishing an opportunity for small tots to romp and play on
grassy plots; a park for all sorts of sports, picnics, and so forth;
sand lots for babyhood; cozy arbors for girls who might wish to study,
or talk. (You might, possibly, find a girl who _can_ talk, you know!);
also shady nooks and winding paths for old folks who might find comfort
in such. Gadsby thought that a park is truly a most important adjunct
to any community; for, if a growing population has no out-door spot at
which its glooms, slumps and morbid thoughts can vanish upon wings of
sunlight, amidst bright colorings of shrubs and sky, it may sink into a
grouchy, fault-finding, squabbling group; and making such a showing for
surrounding towns as to hold back any gain in population or valuation.
Gadsby had a goodly plot of land in a grand location for a park and
sold it to Branton Hills for a dollar; that stingy Council to lay it
out according to his plans. And _how_ his Organization did applaud him
for this, his first "solo work!"

But schools and parks do not fulfill all of a town's calls. Many minds
of varying kinds will long for an opportunity for finding out things
not ordinarily taught in school. So Branton Hills' Public Library
was found too small. As it was now in a small back room in our High
School, it should occupy its own building; down town, and handy for
all; and with additional thousands of books and maps. Now, if you think
Gadsby and his youthful assistants stood aghast at such a gigantic
proposition, you just don't know Youth, as it is today. But to whom
could Youth look for so big an outlay as a library building would cost?
Books also cost; librarians and janitors draw pay. So, with light,
warmth, and all-round comforts, it was a task to stump a full-grown
politician; to say nothing of a plain, ordinary townsman and a bunch
of kids. So Gadsby thought of taking two bright boys and two smart
girls to Washington, to call upon a man in a high position, who had
got it through Branton Hills' popular ballot. Now, any politician is a
convincing orator. (That is, you know, all that politics consists of!);
and this big man, in contact with a visiting capitalist, looking for a
handout for his own district, got a donation of a thousand dollars. But
that wouldn't _start_ a public library; to say nothing of maintaining
it. So, back in Branton Hills, again, our Organization was out, as
usual, on its war-path.

Branton Hills' philanthropy was now showing signs of monotony; so our
Organization had to work its linguistic ability and captivating tricks
full blast, until that thousand dollars had so grown that a library was
built upon a vacant lot which had grown nothing but grass; and only a
poor quality of it, at that; and many a child and adult quickly found
ways of profitably passing odd hours.

Naturally Old Bill Simpkins was snooping around, sniffing and
snorting at any signs of making Branton Hills "look cityish," (a word
originating in Bill's vocabulary.)

"Huh!! _I_ didn't put in any foolish hours with books in my happy
childhood in this good old town! But I got along all right; and am now
having my say in its Town Hall doings. Books!! Pooh! Maps! BAH!! It's
silly to squat in a hot room squinting at a lot of print! If you want
to know about a thing, go to work in a shop or factory of that kind,
and find out about it first-hand."

"But, Bill," said Gadsby, "shops want a man who knows what to do
without having to stop to train him."

"Oh, that's all bosh! If a boss shows a man what a tool is for; and
if that man is any good, at all, why bring up this stuff you call
training? That man grabs a tool, works 'til noon; knocks off for an
hour; works 'til----"

At this point in Bill's blow-up an Italian Councilman was passing, and
put in his oar, with:--

"Ha, Bill! You thinka your man can worka all right, firsta day, huh?
You talka crazy so much as a fool! I laugha tinkin' of you startin' on
a patcha for my boota! You lasta just a half hour. Thisa library all
righta. This town too mucha what I call tight-wad!"

Oh, hum!! It's a tough job making old dogs do tricks. But our
Organization was now holding almost daily sittings, and soon a

him, should go to work in Branton Hills' shopping district, and profit

by it.

"Bah! Why not start a class to show goldfish how to waltz! _I_ didn't

go to any such school; and what am I now? _A Councilman!_ I can't saw a

board straight, nor fry a potato chip; but I can show you folks how to

hang onto your town funds."

Old Bill was a notorious grouch; but our Organization occasionally

did find a totally varying mood. Old Lady Flanagan, with four boys in

school, and a husband many days too drunk to work, was loud in approval.

"Whoops! Thot's phwat I calls a grand thing! Worra, worra! I wish Old

Man Flanagan had had sich an opporchunity. But thot ignorant old clod

don't know nuthin' but boozin', tobacca shmokin' and ditch-diggin'. And

you know thot our Council ain't a-payin' for no ditch-scoopin' right

now. So _I'll_ shout for thot school! For my boys can find out how to

fix thot barn door our old cow laid down against."

Ha, ha! What a circus our Organization had with such varying moods and

outlooks! But, finally such a school was built; instructors brought in

from surrounding towns; and Gadsby was as happy as a cat with a ball of

yarn.

As Branton Hills found out what it can accomplish if it starts out with

vigor and a will to win, our Organization thought of laying out a big

park; furnishing an opportunity for small tots to romp and play on

grassy plots; a park for all sorts of sports, picnics, and so forth;

sand lots for babyhood; cozy arbors for girls who might wish to study,

or talk. (You might, possibly, find a girl who _can_ talk, you know!);

also shady nooks and winding paths for old folks who might find comfort

in such. Gadsby thought that a park is truly a most important adjunct

to any community; for, if a growing population has no out-door spot at

which its glooms, slumps and morbid thoughts can vanish upon wings of

sunlight, amidst bright colorings of shrubs and sky, it may sink into a

grouchy, fault-finding, squabbling group; and making such a showing for

surrounding towns as to hold back any gain in population or valuation.

Gadsby had a goodly plot of land in a grand location for a park and

sold it to Branton Hills for a dollar; that stingy Council to lay it

out according to his plans. And _how_ his Organization did applaud him

for this, his first "solo work!"

But schools and parks do not fulfill all of a town's calls. Many minds

of varying kinds will long for an opportunity for finding out things

not ordinarily taught in school. So Branton Hills' Public Library

was found too small. As it was now in a small back room in our High

School, it should occupy its own building; down town, and handy for

all; and with additional thousands of books and maps. Now, if you think

Gadsby and his youthful assistants stood aghast at such a gigantic

proposition, you just don't know Youth, as it is today. But to whom

could Youth look for so big an outlay as a library building would cost?

Books also cost; librarians and janitors draw pay. So, with light,

warmth, and all-round comforts, it was a task to stump a full-grown

politician; to say nothing of a plain, ordinary townsman and a bunch

of kids. So Gadsby thought of taking two bright boys and two smart

girls to Washington, to call upon a man in a high position, who had

got it through Branton Hills' popular ballot. Now, any politician is a

convincing orator. (That is, you know, all that politics consists of!);

and this big man, in contact with a visiting capitalist, looking for a

handout for his own district, got a donation of a thousand dollars. But

that wouldn't _start_ a public library; to say nothing of maintaining

it. So, back in Branton Hills, again, our Organization was out, as

usual, on its war-path.

Branton Hills' philanthropy was now showing signs of monotony; so our

Organization had to work its linguistic ability and captivating tricks

full blast, until that thousand dollars had so grown that a library was

built upon a vacant lot which had grown nothing but grass; and only a

poor quality of it, at that; and many a child and adult quickly found

ways of profitably passing odd hours.

Naturally Old Bill Simpkins was snooping around, sniffing and

snorting at any signs of making Branton Hills "look cityish," (a word

originating in Bill's vocabulary.)

"Huh!! _I_ didn't put in any foolish hours with books in my happy

childhood in this good old town! But I got along all right; and am now

having my say in its Town Hall doings. Books!! Pooh! Maps! BAH!! It's

silly to squat in a hot room squinting at a lot of print! If you want

to know about a thing, go to work in a shop or factory of that kind,

and find out about it first-hand."

"But, Bill," said Gadsby, "shops want a man who knows what to do

without having to stop to train him."

"Oh, that's all bosh! If a boss shows a man what a tool is for; and

if that man is any good, at all, why bring up this stuff you call

training? That man grabs a tool, works 'til noon; knocks off for an

hour; works 'til----"

At this point in Bill's blow-up an Italian Councilman was passing, and

put in his oar, with:--

"Ha, Bill! You thinka your man can worka all right, firsta day, huh?

You talka crazy so much as a fool! I laugha tinkin' of you startin' on

a patcha for my boota! You lasta just a half hour. Thisa library all

righta. This town too mucha what I call tight-wad!"

Oh, hum!! It's a tough job making old dogs do tricks. But our

Organization was now holding almost daily sittings, and soon a