Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-12-05
CHAPTER III,
Warrick Raridan.

The Clarkson Club was, during most Of
the day. the loneliest place in town. Only
a few of the sleeping rooms were occupied
regularly, and luncheon was the one incl
dent Of the day that drew any considerable
number of men to the dining room. The
antlered heads Of moose and elk were hung
In the hall, and colored prints of English
hunting scenes and bad Oil portraits of sew
eral pioneers were scattered through the
reading and lounging rooms. There was a
room which was referred to f1atteringly as
the library, but its equipment Of literature
consisted of an encyclopedia and of novels
which had been contributed by members at
times coincident with housekeeping seasons
at home. Clarkson business men who main
tanned nonresident memberships in Chi
cago or st. Louis clubs said, in excusirg
the poor patronage of the Clarkson Club,
that Clarkson was not a club town, like
Kansas City or Denver where there were
more unattached men with money to spend
Saxton was not over sensitive, but the
stiffness and hardness of the club house were
not without their disagreeable impression
on him as he sat at dinner toward the close
Of his first day in Clarkson. Two of the
men to whom Porter had introduced him at
noon proved to be fellow dodgers and they
exchanged greetings with him from the ia
BILE where they sat together. They unso-
ciably read their evening papers as they
ate, and left before he finished He had
lighted a cigar over his coffee, and was
watching the fading colors of brilliant
sunset, when young man appeared at the
door, and after a brief inspection of Sax
tons back walked over to him.
aren't you Mr.. SaXton? l thought you
must be he. My name is Raridan. Don't
added, taking the chair which the waiter
drew out for, him. Il met Mr.. Porter a
while ago, and he adjured me on penalties
that I won't name to be good to you. 1
don't know whether this Is obeying orders
he broke off in a laugh-"that depends
on the point of view" He had produced a
cigarette case from his pocket and rolled
L white cylinder between his palms before
lighting 1t. AS the flame leaped from the
match Saxton noted the young mans thin
face, his thick, curling dark hair his slight
mustache, the slenderness of his fingers.
The eyes that lay back of rimless glasses
were almost too fine for a man; but their
gentleness and kindness were charming.
you are guilty of very Chris ian act"
Saxton said. II was just wondering wheth-
er, after the sun had gone down behind that
ridge over there, the world would still be
going round.
THE world never stops entirely here"
returned Raridan, "but the motion some
times gets very slow. Mr.. Porter tells me
that you're to be one of US. Let me con-
graduate us-and your
I'm not so sure about you rejoined
Saxton. "At my last stopping place in the
west they had way of getting rid of IN
desirable members of the community, and
I've never got over being nervous. But
that was Wyoming. I'm sure you're more
civilized here"
mot merely civilized; are civilization!
You see I'm a native, and devoted to the
home sod. My father was one of the first
settlers. l never knew why he laughed
again-it was pleasant laugh-'but I've
tried to live up to my duties as one of the
first Caucssians born in the county. Some
day I'll be exhibited at the state fair and
little children will look at me with awe
and admiration.
THAT makes me feel very humble I'm
almost afraid to tell you that I'm a native
of Boston, with a long line of highly undis
tinguished and terribly conventional ances
,tors back of me. My father was never west
of Albany; my mother was never in a
sleeping car. But I'm not a tenderfoot.
rode the initiating bronco in Wyoming