Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1904-08-25
! The Story | Told Scroggs
: By Mabel Haughton Brown. .
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THIS is a story with two heroes ant
l only a hint of a heroine. Perhaps
n hero should be called the villain
but the question is still undecided In
the mind of the writer and is left tt
the kind discretion of the reader
When told the story to Scroggs, my
chum and confidant, he said:
Man alive, no one could believe it,
"That's because it's true" I said
and Scroggs looked at me long and ear.
nestly.
do you believe such rubbish?" he
asked with the air of an insanity in
spector.
II tell you it happened" I affirmed
land I'm going to write it down.
Scroggs blinked an eye.
You'll be sent to Agnews," he said
and that is all the satisfaction / got out
of him-no queries-no wonderment-
just coolly expressed doubt.
The attitude of Scroggs is not te
be considered seriously. He is q
"dreamless man." highly Unconditional
although high-strung. | like him, but
his logic annoys me at times. I have
always believed the story myself
that is, it seems entirely plausible, al
though / am inclined to regard it from
two points of view. My opinion, how
nUGTv nav ho hincoI fa, rr,o Al,
intimate friend of n hero and came
near knowing the other.
The first man was fair-your true
blonde type, with light hair, almost
white, against his forid face; OF
medium height, slightly inclined to
stoop-and his name was Walter Kent.
He was not a handsome man, but
rather a massive, wholesome-looking
fellow-the kind of man you would
trust if you had to, and stake a good
deal on his doing the square thing
Men liked Kent; he was a rafting good
fellow-but no one would have ever
taken him for a hero of romance.
He was inclined to be shy. His
great clumsy hands usually sought his
pockets and stayed there when he
talked to men. With women he was
different; he tried to appear perfectly
at his ease and failed dismally. 1t
was all too bad. He was about the
best kind of a friend that a woman
could have had under any circum-
stances, but not one of the fair sex
knew him we'll. Poor Kent, he couldn't
stand it to talk to a woman long
enough to let her get acquainted with
him; and yet I know that in the inner
recesses Of his soul he treasured a
high, idealistic opinion of women in
general, and had his day dreams like
the rest of us.
(f I were a woman, I think I would
marry a mar like Kent-knowing what
I do Of men-but to my knowledge,
Kent had never proposed to a woman
in his life, and not one of the women
he had met had ever shown him the
slightest favor. Not to my knowledge,
you say? Well, Kent told me all about
it,
The foothills Of a state like Colo
RADIO seemed just the place that a man
like Kent would go eventually. We all
have something Of the cowboy spirit in
our natures, / think, and in Kent it
was more strongly developed than it
is in most Of us. He was a child of
nature deep down in his sturdy old
heart-the fresh fields and green woods
were near akin to him, or so it seemed
to me when | unused on things senti-
mental, and I was much given to
musing in those days. Perhaps the
reader has surmised before this. that
I was somewhat devoted 10 Kent. I
was, and when he started to the hills,
I picked up and went with him. I
fancied that we two would get along
swimmingly out there. The thought
Of the free, outdoor life held for me
all the romance Of a quaint old story.
I should be enabled to put my knowl-
edge Of surveying to practical use, I
thought, and, moreover, would be get
ting in fine shape for my coming ca
I was just out Of college, and my
coming career was a sweet hallucina-
ton under which / labored at the time.
But l had misinterpreted my own
nature, even though I was pretty IT.
rect in my estimate Of Kent. I soon
learned that the cowboy spirit in my
nature had spent itself long years be-
fore, and a little Of green field and
open air went a long way with me.
In short, I fairly hated the solitude Of
the great wide place, and the survey
ing work proved particularly irksome.
Hanging over a cliff with a line is not
nearly as bracing as it seems to a ten
derfoot. But the work was the least
OF my worries. The 0 a of the city
still fingered in my ears, and | de-
cided that scenery and fresh air could
not compose my all in life. AS for
Kent, he was an ideal camper. With
his clay pipe and a blanket roll he
was in his element. The memory Of
a sweet face haunted me sometimes,
and with the post Office ten miles
away, this grew to a serious consid-
Grafton. AT last, | showed the whita
feather to such a degree that I want
ed to 60 back. nerved myself and
told Kent about IL