The Newport miner. [volume] (Newport, Wash.) 1899-current, 1912-04-25
WAKING UP A
TOWN
By NJ QUAD
Copyright, 1912, by Associated Lit
erary Press.


Yes; business seems to drop off
little every year." was the reply.
"And why are we dead and dying
hereY asked the deacon as he step
ped up on the platform beside a bar
rel of kerosene, for it was postoffice
and grocery combined.
He waited till his audience had shut
and pocketed their jackknives and
then answered his own question.
Because nothing ever happens here.
Does any one die? Do we have any
funerals? Does any one ever get mar
ried? Does any one steal? Has any
one present even seen dog fight in
the last two years?"
mo. nor
something ought to be done, dea
con-" suggested a voice.
"And don't l know it? Don't we
all know it?'
might call a public meeting and
resolve" was second suggestion.
Resolve what-that we are going to-
the dogs?"
"Our forefathers did that, and then
we licked the British"
But where's your British to lick
now? I've been thinking this thing
over for two years, and l hain't lit on
a remedy yet. I've got whole barrel
of mOlasses in the cellar, and I'll give
it to the critter who can wake this
town up
The critter to do it was right at
hand. The deacon meant human be-
ing, but the critter was an old spotted
bull coming down the highway. The
crowd at the poStoffice was scratching
it's head and almost tasting that mo-
lasses when the bull turned a corner
and saw his golden opportunity. He
charged with a snort and below,
and after smashing three gates that
were swinging open he was at the
pOstOffice. He knocked the crowd right
and left. He cleared the platform of
barrels and boxes. He ran his horns
through windows.
The bull came and saw and did
things and went his way. 1t was
fine beginning to wake up a town.
None of the three doctors in it had even
had a case Of measles in six months.
Now they had thirteen bull horned and
bull kicked victims to practice on. In
stead Of every light being out by 9
o'clock they were burning in almost
every house at midnight.
Next morning the town was early
astir to repair damages and exchange
opinions, and no one was looking for
anything more to happen when the old
bull came charging again. Instead of
being miles away he had slept just out
side the town to be ready for an early
call. That below was like the fall of
a brick house. There were three farm
ers' teams on the street, early as it
was. To play ball with them was fun
for the bull. He put his horns under
old Mrs. Baxter as she was crossing
the street to borrow an egg and tossed
her over a fence to come down head
first in a tomato patch. He kicked
Elder Southfeld in the solar plexus and
knocked him the length of a black
smith shop.
that bull. He was at work every min
ute of the time, and when he finally
| quit it was because there was nothing
more in his line to be done. On this
occasion our staff correspondent sim
| ply telegraphed:
81 have seen the dead and dying, and
! I have gaZed on the wide wrought de-
struction, and l am simply overcome"
At shutdown scouts that had been
sent out reported that nothing had
been seen of the bull, and it was be-
lieved that he had retired to some
place where the rates were not too
high to commit suicide. There was
great felicitation and an attempt to do
business, but the old bull had fooled
'em. With the same old below. same
horns. same tail. he came charging in
for the third time. He was willing to
work overtime without extra pay
They had axes and clubs and crowbars
and guns ready for him this time, but
they knew him not.
Abner Goodhue and his wife were
going to prayer meeting. Over fence
they went instead. Aaron Littlefield
and his mOther-in-law were going to
sit up with one of the injured on the
first charge. Aaron saved himself by
climbing a locust tree. but the woman
| was kicked in the head and never
spoke again, though she lived on for
twenty years.
There were score more cases like
the above, but our staff correspondent
didn't particularize. He couldn't. His
emotions were too great. He had to
simply say:
my grandfather was at Gettysburg,
but he saw nothing like this. simply
stand appalled, and ask myself who is
who"
If you should enter that town today
you would find $4,000 population in
place of 1000. You would find a brick
postoffice with lot of old men sitting
around, and one Of them would be like
ly to ask:
Deacon Singer, wasn't there time
in the history of Beverly when she