The Parker post., 1914-12-19
BAD MAN CLARENCE
The Wild West Nearly Keeps the
Railroad Out of Mos
cow, Maine.
By FRANK MACDONALD.
(Copyright.)

against literature as literature, but I'll
be blessed if it didn't nigh prevent
us from getting our railroad. Robbie
Swan, whom you will remember as a
very nice, obliging sort of chap, reck-
oned that boys didn't have much
chance in the country, and that there
fore it was the city for his'n.
So he went off to Bangor to work
in an Office and he lasted about six
months. When he came back he had
fallen away some'at in flesh, and there
was a far-away, worried lock into his
eyes until he was confronted with one
Of his mothers best meals. Then he
frightened up and said he guessed,
after all, that raising turnips and po-
tatoes, and doing little logging in
winter, were honorable occupations,
and good enough for any free-born
American.
But Robbie brought back with him
ether things besides experience and an
elastic appetite. He had whole trunk
full of stories of the West, the great,
the glorious, golden West, the West
that never was.
In them there is always a hero
whose clean-cut, determined features
are somewhat stained by, but not
wholly buried in, alkali dust. Then
there is the sweep of the pitiless,
parching, cloudless sky that arches
the far-eaching, arid plain like bra
zen, burning casque.
There is a girl. a graceful, dare
devil of a girl, who can ride any bron-
cho that ever bronked, and who rounds
up either the hero or the bad man at
the end. Then there are also greas-
ers, pancakes for breakfast, chilli con
carnage, Injins, and sech truck.
Well, those books and magazines
and pamphlets were left to Robbie
by an accidental roommate, who lit
cut, taking Robes change and spare
clothes. He was going to the golden
West to brand mavericks and get into
stories but he only got as far as
Worcester where he went to work
iE wire mill But Robbie's money
never came DacK.
Hums'ever. these stories almost de-
c1ded the destinies of our town, Mos
COW Maine Andrew Carnegie amt as
yet recognized our need of library,
and, hithertofore in the past we've
confined ourselves to rural publica-
tions like Residence and Radiator,
Pies and Pans, or the Housekeeper's s
Guide the Furrow, etc. So we pitched
right in and read Robbie's books, and
they proved terribly stimulating.
We're a. pretty big place, and the
tufAips that come from our neighbor-
hood are popular all over the world,
some of them entering the best soci-
ETY. in New York, and even Washing
ton political circles. But we were
really handicapped by lack of railroad
facilities, for we had to bring our
goods down the Merrigakkin, and
sometimes the Merrigakkin amt there
in dry weather.
We had sent delegations to the
Great Central and Atlantic, and our
pastor has preached a powerful SER
mon on the subject. Still, the best
the directors could do for us was to
say that they might take the matter
under advisement.
1t was fall when Robbie got back
home, and those books served to light
en- the dull period between harvest
and logging. tell you we had some
fierce arguments about them. Bile
Dow. whose aspirations was to be a
barroom Socrates, which he couldn't
be in prohibition state, he allowed
that hacienda was higher than a
patio. but that a majordomo ranked
them both, and was superior even to a
general
But bymbye we were all at work
and forgetting, OF those things, while
Biz stays around home keeping warm
anc letting good literature filter into
his system He probably would have
built a dobe house, if he'd known
what IL was, or braided a few quirts,
or something OF that sort, if he could.
But he didn't
Al he cone was to make a mess
of tortilIas. which weren't nothing but
pretty pool f1apjacks, and read. He
read till spring, and then he knew
more about the imaginary West than
the people who write about it He
didn't even take part in the spring
painting; just hung around the post
Office and acted like a chicken with
the roup
He said it was a great yearning in
his heart for the boundless plains,
and he could see in his minds eye
the endless, treeless stretches where
the plaintive prairie-dog coughs, the
Gila monster roots in it's lair, and
the coyote howls dismally through
the hollow, aching void Of night
We jest LATED at him and told him
the plains was as devoid of drink as
they was Of trees. But one day he
got into action.
Il know" he said, there's bad men
lurking about. hit their trail over
in Whaccaghamore. I'll keep my eye
peeled"