The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1935-11-01

Dun 1 We 1ldO GIlc OdIAluCoS eLAIS' 100
new detour you know on the state roaaf
The gully gorge I call it! Well, r1gnt
in the narrowest part Of 1t and going
like blazes, I met three elephants!'
why Athol darling! What utter non
sense!" protested his wife.
She was, by the way, explaining the
process Of canning rhubarb at the
moment. and except for jumping up to
straighten her husbands tie q
bring him a fresh glass OF water, sic
kept right on explaining.
Vaguely, above her patter about the
best kind of jar rubbers to use, W.
heard Duncon's voice stretching valniy
to proffer the further details OF MS
appeasement. Allluringly to Jul tan
talized and rhubarb tortured ears
floated broken sentences about STAN.
peding jungle beasts, the glitter
spangled tights under battered ram
coats, the problematical value OF q my,
sterlous bracelet which he limited a
been forced upon him IN return tor nis
by intricate suggestions concerning salt
or sugar, smothered by devious direc-
lions for cooking or cooling, we saw ms
sprightly narrative, true or false, pass
regretfully into oblivion.
"Yet maybe" we reasoned, "maype
he is a braggart and a boaster! Maybe
his wife knows best!"
But later in the evening it seemed
that both our credulities and u m
credulities were to be tossed together
somewhat unceremoniously in the same
basket, as it were. when, Gaining my
husband aside, Duncon showed MN q
strange bracelet, not necessarily prec-
ious, but of a unique and pagan beauty
and said wistfully, pinch it II you
like to make sure! 1t is real, isn't IL!
Once again before the evening, was
over, on the doorstep this time at me
moment of parting, we witnessed tie
second demonstration OF his wires az
titude.
Duncon spoke of Detroit.
20, why yes" said my husband. 10Y
were there a fortnight ago, weren't
YOU? See a good ball game?"
Ball game nothing!" said Duncon
QUIETLY. II spent the Weekend in jail!
Got run in by mistake for a ounter-
feiter that the police were trailing" ,
Speeches. with horror we glanced
from him to his wife.
II did have some of the bad money"
he grinned.
But his wife merely threw back her
head and roared with delight. =.
Just another one of Athols yarns"
she said.
cons face. He started to speak ana
then changed his mind, apparently n
turned back into the house, just a
smallish, pale eyed, drab haired man.
turning back into the nous to put the
cat out.
Rather soberly my husband and I
trailed down the long path to our WALL
ing s car nondor cold INV
We we're still wondering more or less
as the weeks slipped along into the
months and the months even into the
years.
Internationally in a dozen different
groups, on the edge OF a dozen dlffer-
ent situations, at the country club, on
the street, across some friendly dinner
table, we saw the incident repeat itself
of Duncon slipping, strolling. easily IN
to the conversation with some perfectly
electrifying exploit that sputtered out
like a burnt fuse before his wlfe's in
credulous laughter. A rescue at sea, or
a fight in a balloon, a mailman run
ming amuck in the office, or a strange
woman in the subway offering him a
thousand dollars for a book he was
reading which, all unknown to him,
proved to be an extremely rare edition,
one and all we're dismissed by his wife
with the same airy gesture as being
mere filaments of the imagination.
Just one of DUNGEONS yarns!" she
would say. zone of DUNGEONS yarns"
It was inevitable, of course, as time
went on that some faint tinge OF TINS
~incredulity should pass from his Wl1es
mind into the minds of his other near
ers. On the golf greens, in the smok-
ing room, riding down to the offlce IN
the morning, gossiping over n crack
ers and cheese at bedtime, the thing
became a sort of good-natured byword.
Was there a var or a rumor Oh war
did the radio predict a fresh crash IN
the stock market, had neighbors
wife eloped with another neighbors
husband? 20, maybe it isn't really so,'
some one was almost sure to say. may
be it's lust one of Duncon'S yarns!".
Just why does everybody think I'm
a liar?" questioned Duncon one night
quite seriously of my husband.
They don't!" said my husband.
who d~oesn't?" demanded Duncon.
IT don't!" said my husband.
Duncon put out his hand.
My husband took it.
After that they were friends! But
not, alas, for long.
1t was early in March, in about the
fifth year, I think, of our acquaintance
with Athol that he was thrown from a
horse in a race and broke his back.
To quote the grim jest that he made
himself about the unhappy incident he
had seen no other way. apparently OF
convincing his wife that he had ridden
in the race.
The horses name was Lucy Pepper
Pot. She was a bad actor. Already IN
the brief week preceding the much ad-
vertised opening of the new country
club track she had injured her trainer
and nobody wanted to ride her. Hell
owner was distracted.
Really suffering" Duncon said.
Moreover. as Duncon further confid-
ed later to those who subsequently were
the most interested, he had always
cherished a desire to go billoWing forth
before a great throng of people in a
gayly striped silk shirt with a visored
con c1opfirr Icu,, lilo q c,,oorhi11'e