The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1932-06-17

and rode home through the purple,
star-spangled desert without fear. The
cowboys, the ranchers, the homestead
ers who had been his good friends.
Who took him along on their jaunts
into the heart of the universe. Who
taught him the secret things of nature.
Who had been kind to him. Who were
kind to him.
1t was unthinkable to let these good
people know how the heart within him
was heavy thing.
Up to the very day Of his departure
for the East, he kept it from them.
Had not the heart to tell them that his
departure was final. That he was
shaking the desert dust off his feet
forever.
They had been good. Kind. Their
delight in his cure was scarcely less
than his own.
When he finally stepped into the
rafting tin can of car that was to
drive him the forty miles to the near
est station where he took his train, it
was with the understanding that he
was to return to them in the autumn.
ing. His friends.
Like a sneak, the doctor turned his
back on Cactus Post, knowing he had
lied to them and yet had lied out of
the kindness of his heart. The little
group of them waving him good-by.
The fellows. Bless them. The hand
full of women in their calico who had
been so kind to him. Mrs Hodges,
the general storekeeper's wife, who
had nursed him through bronchitis.
Sweet-eyed Clarissa who had tended
him so faithfully. Bless them.
The city met him like a boom Of
ocean, surf of humanity running and
kissing up against his feet his first
step off the train.
Bing. Boom. Bang. The heart leapt
in his bosom. The eager, quick footed
men. There! The women in their
furs and the identifying wrappings
that he had so missed. Even their
painted faces! Gaiety was here. Pulse
Of life. The streets swan vitality.
Rush. Eagerness. Lights blazed. The
hotel where he stopped had the warm,
perfumed quality to it that reminded
him of the bare shoulders of women
and the whisper of furs
Lifel Vitality. Sophistication. Here
were the men who made the universe
go around. The women who made
the universe matter.
The city caught him up once more.
Goaded him. Spurred him. Within
the month he was on the ole tread-mill
again, straining, yearning, aspiring.
The young doctor was back in the
race. The profession which had prac-
tically forgotten him began to turn
an eye upon him again.
The doctor was back again. Cured
In the race.
And after the first six months, it
was borne in upon an amazed, a
startled young doctor that the race no
longer mattered. His work, the scien-
tific curiosity that spurred him on, his
love of it, could not be best pursued
here in these marts of men.
The doctor had tasted of the beauty
and the peace and the nobility Of quiet.
He missed the ring of axes into wood.
The gibberish of birds against dawn.
The clear voices of women calling
through high, thin air. This was
roar. The lights of the theaters rep
resented the cheap furnished pastimes
that people sought. People without the
1oi 70
People who must forever be jamming,
pushing, seeking. In all the months
since his return, he had not had one
evening for quiet reading. The stack
of books beside his bed was half a
man high. Life had him once more
By the scroff of the neck. The painted
faces of the women Knocked him.
Pallid faces gone flabby from lack
of the simple things that had kept
those calico-clad ones out there firm
fleshed and bright eyed even by light
of dawn
The autumn came around. The color
of asphalt in the city. The color of
quartz and topaz and cornelian and
ruby and lapis lazuli in Cactus Post.
The doctor knew! Knew it with his
heart that was aching.
And so, come autumn, as he had
promised, the doctor did return to his
shanty, in Cactus Post. A sunset the
color of the blood that must have been
surging around his heart met him as
he stepped out of the rickety tin auto
mobile that had driven him the many
miles from the station.
Clarissa of the sweet eyes met him,
too.
The doctor had come home.