Palisadian., 1915-12-25
Newspaper Classic
Story Reprinted

paper clipping, says the Kansas City
Star, dug out of a time-yellowed
scrapbook. There was nothing to
indicate it's authorship or even the
name Of the publication in which it
appeared. Here it is:
The muskrat Frenchman is to be
found dwelling in the flats along the
Detroit River. In stature he is small,
in complexion like to his native mud,
in habits simple and-uncleanly in
appetite, satisfying himself with
roast "muskrat shtuff wiz onyan,"
washed down with whiskey little bet
ter than raw alcohol. In imagination
he is wild, vivid, fanciful, extrava-
CANT.
Recently Antoine Boudie, true
type of the muskrat Frenchman,
came into Jean Baptiste Montie's
saloon at Ecorse with a red and
swollen nose There was consider
able excitement in the saloon. The
two Cicottes of Detroit were play
ing match game of pedro with the
two Monte brothers. Thedo Cicotte
was winning, and playing every card
with a yell of triumph and a thump
OF the knuckles that made the table
dance. "Tirteen time!" he shrieked,
as he played on the last trick and
chalked the score down on the table
top, while the crowd, composed of
unkempt, unwashed, but sympathetic.
muskrat Frenchmen, pressed closely
around the players. The triumphant
Thedo turned and beheld Antoine
Boudie's nasal beacon.
"Haylo, Antoine, Ha! Ze red nose.
Ware you get him 2"
"Mon dieu Ware | get him? L
tell you. You say liar, but so is it.
Dees morn l TAX pail an ak an go
to rivaire; walk out bout half acre
on ice, chop hole in ice an get
wataire. Den l say 4 t'irsty; get
drink stoop, poot head in hole,
drink wataire. Splosh! bang! Some
t'ings by re nose haf me fast. l
geev great swair, leap, fall on ice,
hear something strike. rub wataire
out my eye. Look. Dere on ice lie
catfeesh, beeg, so long, wat I poo
out wataire by my nose. Mon Dieu!
She hurt an bleed, but taxi feesh
an pail an go to house. Firs,.
put leetle fat muskrat on my nose
teel she feel YER fine. Den I weigh
feesh-twenty pound. I tax before
many beeg feesh, but not so on my
nose. Wen feesh taxi nose for bait
| JUS soon be couple acre off. Mon
Dieu, non! / tell you, feesh bite my
nose. How wheesky maxi red lax
dat? You call me liar? You hear
dat Kanuck fellow? Somebody hol'
NEIL keel him! Oh! bien. All
right. Yes,X tax drink den.- Leetle
glass wheesky, please"
Antoine went to the bar, and the
cards being dealt again the game
was proceeding, when the side door
opened and Theodphile Campau came
in dragging a large sturgeon that
would weigh perhaps ninety pounds.
Jean Baptiste Monte turned to him
with an innocently inquiring ex-
preston:
"Mon Dieu. Theophile, you got
w'ale. Ware you fin dat drift Shore ?"
"W'at! You insooP me lax dat?
! fin him on hook wat I bait for
him. You stop play card minnit l
tell you quare ting. Dis morn
early-I go feesh. T'ink 1 catch few
leetle perch. 1 row out couple acre
off Lighthouse Point, were ice is
gone off. After vile perch he begin
to. bite. l pool in two, tree. 1 get
nudder bite. l pool. Splosh! Beeg
sturgeon he come, ketch perch by
tail; hoP him up out wataire, unhook
him off hook, t'row him in air. Perch
fall back in wataire~and swim way.
Wal, t'ink dat quafe ting. Den |
t'row in gen. Ketch nudder perch.
Splosh! Sturgeon save him same
way by tail. Dis go on nine, ten
time Den l get mad, l rage, I swair,
l t'row fist in air, stamp pritty
near hole in bottom boat; but when |
t'row in gen, sturgeon come JUS lax
same time before, on'y dees time he
wink at me he's eye.
"Den l t'ink. l jump up. Pool up
anker out mud. TAX one perch 1
ketch an tie him 'longside anker
flock so his tail come JUS to end.
Den I t'row him in. Splosh! Mon
Dieu! Wen he get perch by tail dat
time anker get him by nose Den
g'ess he make fly. He TAX boat long
faster dan boss draw cart. FRS he
go up river, pritty near ceety Detroit.
den he go down. Go by steamboats,
JUS lax she STAN still. Den, bonn
by Mr.. Feesh he get tired. We stan
still bout ten mint. Den pritty
queek, when he rest, he start jump
out wataire. He jump once-jump
twice. Den t'ink. TAX oar. Poot
two oar in wataire ready for TAX
beeg, long queek stroke He jump
gen. Queek stroke, swish! go boat
right under him, wen he in air.
Bang! he come down all rat in boat.
I TAX oar-I keel him wild beeg knock
on head. Ketch few more perch an
come Shore"
During the recital Antoine Boudie
at the bar was slipping his whiskey
with obvious disgust at having his
story capped. Now he spoke up:
"Dat pritty good story, Theophile
On'y max time you do lax dat, better
bring feesh in wen you ketch i'm an
not leave i'm outdoor in mud all
night. I was out yes'day bout four
o'clock by Lighthouse Point an
L