The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1908-11-13


| the walk"
mot much" says Van. "Walking's
almost as bad as running. I'll be here
when you get back"
1t may be that Hartley did want
| that walk, same as he said, but he
didn't seem to get much fun out OF 1t.
Went pounding along, his cigar tipped
up to the visor of his cap. and his
eyes staring at the ground all the
time. And he never spoke two words
| till We got to the fair grounds.
There was a dickens OF a crowd,
| five or six hundred folks, should
think, and more coming all the time.
rowed the horses and carryalls OF
them that couldn't and had brought
| their wives and mothers-in-law and
their children's children unto the third
and fourth generation. There was con-
siderable many summer folks-not so
many as there is at the cattle show In
| August-but good many, just the
same. counted five automobiles. and
see the Barry folks from Trumet
riding round In their four-horse coach
and putting on airs enough to make
EN- lop-sided.
Hartley gave one look around at the
| gang and his nose turned up TO IL
| o'clock.
Cad" says he, this, or something
like IL, is what I've been trying to get
away from. Come on, Sol. Let's 60
back to the boat"
But hadn't seen so many shows as
he had and l wanted to stay.
You wait a spell, Mr.. Hartley"
says l. Let's cruise round little
first"
So we went showing along through
the crowd, getting our toes tramped
on and lodging peddlers and such like
every other minute. There was the
''test-your-strength" machine and the
merry-go-round and the "ossified man"
in tent: Walk right up, gents, and
cast your eyes on the greatest marvel
of the age all alive and solid stone
only two nickels dime ten cents,
and all the rest of II. Pretty soon
we come to where the Teller was sell
ing the r Pluribus Unum candy-red,
white and blue, and slab as big as a
brick for a dime.
Hartley stopped and stares at 1t.
For heavens sakel" says he.
What do they do with that?"
do with it?" says l. Eat 1t, OF
course"
MOP" he says. Not really?"
"Humphl" l says. you just wait
a shake"
There was little red-headed young
ster scooting in and out among the
folks knees and / caught him by the
shoulder. Hi, Andrew Jackson!"
says /. Want some candy?"
He looked up at me as pert and
sassy as a blackbird on a scarecrow's
shoulder.
Bet your natural" says he.
jumped.
Lord" says 1; Il callate he knows
YOU"
Hartley smiled. How do they sell
that-that Portland cement" says he
Give me some" he says, holding q
half dollar to the Teller behind the oil
cloth counter. The man chiseled of
enough for a fair-sized tombstone and
handed 1t out. Hartley passed it to
the boy. He bit off hunk that made
him look like he had the mumps all
on one side, and commenced to
crunch IL.
"There!" says /. That's proof
enough. amt it?"
But he want satisfied wait a
minute" says he. Il want to see what
II does to him."
Well, 1t didn't do nothing, apparent
ly, except to make the little shaver's
jaws sound like rock crusher, so we
went on. BY and by we come to the
fence alongside of the place where
they had the races. The sack race
was on, half a dozen fellers hopping
around tied up In meal bags, and we
see that. Then Hartley was for going
home again, but l managed to hold
him. The creased pig was the next
number on the dance order and
wanted to see 1t.
MAJ. Philander Phinney, he's chair
man of the Eastwich selectmen and
pretty nigh half as big as he thinks
he is; he stood on tip-toe on the
judges stand and bellered that the
creased pig contest was open to boys
under Is, and that the one that caught
the pig and hung on to II would get
five dollars. In less than three shakes
of behring's hind leg there was boys
enough on that field to start a reform
school. They ranged all the way from
little chaps who ought to have been
home cutting their milk teeth "a
boys" that had yellow fuzz on their
chins and a plug of chewing tobacco
in their pants pocket They fetched
In the pig shut up In box with laths
over the top. He was little and black
and all shining with grease. Then
they stretched a rope across one end
of the race field and lined up the pig
chasers behind it.
'Hello!" says Hartley. there's our
Portland cement youngster. Hell