The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1916-05-12

grew stouter and stronger every year
and became more and more the stu
pidest blockhead that ever thumbed
schoolbook. was fourteen to day
when / squeezed through the final
grammar grade; think Of it-fourteen
years old and still with the woman
teachers! found out afterward that
got my obviously given passport to
the high school chiefly because my
father was one Of the best-known and
bestowed men in the old home town.
Perhaps It wasn't the magic seven that
built me all over new that summer;
perhaps II was only the change in
schools and teachers. But from that
year on all the hard things were too
easy. 1t was as II somebody or some
thing had suddenly opened q closed
door In my brain and let the daylight
into all the dark corners at once"
Grislow sat up and finished for him.
Eyes; and since that time you have
STAYED your way through the univer-
sity, and butted into the reclamation
service, and played skittles with every
other mans chances of promotion I'M
til you have come out at the top of
the heap In the construction division.
all Of which you're much too modest
to brag about. But, say; we've
skipped one of the seven.year flag sta
tons. What happened when you were
twenty-one-or were you too busy Just
then chasing the elusive engineering
degree to take notice?"
Brouillard was staring out over the
loom Of the dozen campfres-out and
across the valley at the massive bulk
of Mount Chigringo rising like huge
barrier dark to the skyline save for a
single pinprick of yellow light fixing
the position Of q solitary miners
cabin half way between the valley
level and the summit. When he spoke
again the photographer had been given
time to shave another pipe charge of
tobacco from his pocket plug and to
fill and light the brier.
when I was twenty-one my father
died, and"-he stopped short and then
went on in tone which was more
than half apologetic-"I don't mind
telling, Grislow; you're not the kind
to pass it on where it would hurt. At
twenty-one I was left with back load
that I am carrying to this good day;
that / will probably go on carrying
through life"
Grislow walked around the FIRE,
kicked two or three of the charred log
ends into the blaze. and growled when
the resulting smoke rose up to choke
and blind him.
Forget it, Victor" he said. I'm less
than a hundredth part of that time
you'll be at the top of the reclamation
service pay roll-won't that help out?
mo; not appreciably."
Grislow gave it up at that and went
back to the original contention.
Were lodging the main ISSUE" he
said. What is the active principle
of your 'sevens'-or haven't you fig
ured it out?"
Change" was the prompt rejoin-
der; always something different
radically different"
And what started you off into the
memory woods, particularly tonight ?"
Condolences. 1t began with that
hopelessly unreliable little clock that
Arson persists in carrying around
with him wherever he goes. While you
were up on the hill cutting your spruce
tips Arson went over to his tent and
lighted up, and few minutes after
ward I heard the clock strike-seven.
Just as I was comfortably forgetting
the significant reminder the clock
went off again, striking slowly, as IL
the mechanism were nearly run
down."
Another severn" queried Grislow.
mo; 1t struck four"
We'll" was the bantering comment,
Il suppose Arson was tinkering with
his little tin god of a timepiece. It's
habit Of his"
II was curious enough to go and
look. When ! lifted the flap the tent
was empty. The clock was ticking
away on Anson's soap-box dressing