The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-11-02
AT CAMP MN Ell ZEN !.
a Story Of Life on the Oklahoma Border Line
Sound Hearts and Bad Money.
BY FRANKLIN Fri. II.
tCoppright al Riqhts Reservsd


where the boomers had dragged their
way toward the land of vague promise.
This was the nineteenth nightly place of
stop, and therefore was called Camp
Nineteen. The last one had been named
Eighteen and the next would be Camp
Twenty.
Half a hundred men were erecting
poles a short distance further along, but
the wire had not been carried beyond
the spot where the night camp was
fixed, and there the only person besides
the busy cooks Immediately discernible
when the pedestrians arrived was a
young man busy at a telegraphic instru-
ment. A tripod made the legs of arnall
table, and on it was the apparatus for
sending aud receiving messages over the
wire. which was brought down from the
last pole to which it had been adjusted.
The operators name was William Brown,
and it goes far toward describing him to
tell that in the rough and impolite COM
pany of telegraph constructors he was
called Will Brown and not Bill Brown
No doubt some of this consideration on
the part Of men given to hard hickman
ing was due to young Brown being the
electrician of the expedition, and there
fore a scientific mystery to most of them;
brit more than that, his unvarying
suavity Of manner, modesty of speech
and careful retention Of eastern deport-
nsent characterized him so markedly as
to make ssBi1lv MISSIONER and "Willn
appropriate.
Look, dad, !" the dusty girl whispered
to her companion as her eyes fell on
VIII Brown; 1--WE haven't seen thing
like that since we quit railroad tracks
and took to footprints. Isn't he pretty?"
He glads my eyes, daughter - he
glads my very gaze the man returned,
eying the busy operator, who had not
yet seen them. .
The cause of the weary travellers glad
ness was understood by the girl when
she saw him advance with an enlivened
stride, and heard him say briskly: ssAh,
a telegraph station, eh? That is fortu-
nate. Is this money order Office, my
young friend? I would like to send
message to Fort Smith at once for
transfer of funds"
VIII Brown Strengthened from his bent
posture over the instrument, looked at the
exaggerated dignity of the inquirer with
a twinkle of merriment in his honest
blue eyes, and urbanely replied: .sThis
isn't a money order station; it isn't any
sort of station; it's just the temporary
end of the line and doesn't take any bust
ness"
ss0h, don't say that-pray don't say
that and the disappointment of the APP
plicant looked like genuine anguish. II
shall be distressed-we shall be dis
tressed-daughter and I--if we can't get
a remittance by wire Viii Browns
eyes turned to the girl, and saw in her
face as woebegone an expression as she
could command without hurting her
prettiness. After pause, to let the
young man appreciate the comeliness of
the maiden in spite of her bad attire,
the father continued: 1--WE have walked
six miles this afternoon and intended to
go as far as Wealth City,"
Wealth City9p came in cultural
voice from the center of clump of low
bushes, and then red face, fringed
with whiskers from one side of a straw
hat brim around to the other, and stub
bled over with an unshaven weeks
beard, lifted into view What n
t-h-u-n-der's Wealth City, the grim
voice demanded, spelling out the first
syllable Theoretically, with heavy en-
phasis on each letter and an equal stress
on the rest of the word.
The rise Of this individual was SO
much like that of jack-in-a-box carica-
ture that the girl exclaimed, like sur
prised child, "Oh, that's funnyIr and
one of her feet leaped clear of the ground
in a little caper of merriment. The OBJ
ject of her glee displayed no resentment.
He was amiably drunk and disposed to
crafty, with all particulars about him
self, the curiosity which he had aroused.
my names Old Jugg Brown he SEN
tentiously said, addressing himself d.
rectly to the girl, and speaking as a hui
man exhibit in museum might in lee
turing on itself. II was born Brown.
and now they call me Old Jugg because
I'm such an almighty hard drinker.
Yes; I'm Old Jugg Brown, and this
young gentleman is my son. I'm proud
of my son, and he amt proud of me.
He's reformin' me, Will is, but got
hold Of a bottle o whisky, and I've been
drinkin' here in the brush"
He told this as something that had
casually happened to him, something re-
gretable, and yet nothing that he could
have been expected to prevent. He held
up the half emptied bottle and swayed
with it to and fro until the son took it
from him and smashed it on stone. He
regarded this summary action apathet-
ically until the aroma of the spilled
whisky reached his nose, and then he
shifted feebly, his bland smile changed
to grotesque pout, and he sank slowly
down into the bushes as though an in
visible hand was shutting him down into
his box
II was saying that we meant to get to
Wealth City before night, the strutting
stranger resumed. 'sWe understand that
Wealth City is new name for sudden
I'd 40 G