LARIAT BILL ANONYMOUS "Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine "My fireman's name was Lariat Bill, A quiet man with an easy way, Who could rope a steer with a cowboy's skill, The coil were strong as tempered steel, An' it went like a bolt from a crossbow flung, An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel, "Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, For thar on the track were a little child! "I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, An' out on the front of the engine crept- He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes; "I know the rest of the tale," he cries; "He snatched the child from the jaws of death! And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing. "He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree, Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch! I ain't forgot it, and never shall; Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see-about- THE CANDIDATE BY BILL NYE The heat and the venom of each political campaign bring back to my mind with wonderful clearness the bitter and acrimonious war, and the savage factional fight, which characterized my own legislative candidacy in what was called the Prairie Dog District of Wyoming, about ten years ago. I hesitated about accepting the nomination because I knew that vituperation would get up on its hind feet and annoy me greatly, and, indeed, this turned out to be the case. In due time I was nominated, and one evening my heart swelled when I heard a campaign band coming up the street, trying to see how little it could play and still draw its salary. The band was followed by men with torches, and speakers in carriages. A messenger was sent into the house to tell me that I was about to be waited upon by my old friends and neighbors, who desired to deliver to me their hearty endorsement, and a large willowcovered two-gallon Godspeed as a mark of esteem. The spokesman, as soon as I had stept out on my veranda, mounted the improvised platform previously erected, and after a short and debilitated solo and chorus by the band, said as. follows, as near as I can now recall his words: "Mr. Nye "Sir:--We have read with pain the open and venomous attacks of the foul and putrid press of our town, and come here tonight to vindicate by our presence your utter innocence as a man, as a fellow citizen, as a neighbor, as a father, mother, brother or sister. "No one could look down into your open face, and deep, earnest lungs, and then doubt you as a man, as a fellow citizen, as a neighbor, as a father, mother, brother, or sister. You came to us a poor man, and staked your all on the growth of this town. We like you because you are still poor. You can not be too poor to suit us. It shows that you are not corrupt. "Mr. Nye, on behalf of this vast assemblage (tremulo), I am glad that you are POOR! ! !” Mr. Limberquid then said: "Sir:-What do we care for the vilifications of the pressa press hired, venial, corrupt, reeking in filth and oozy with the slime of its own impaired circulation, snapping at the heels of its superiors, and steeped in the reeking poison and pollution of its own shop-worn and unmarketable opinions? "What do we care that homely men grudge our candidate his symmetry of form and graceful, upholstered carriage? What do we care that calumny crawls out of its hole, calumniates him a couple of times and then goes back? "We like him for the poverty he has made. Our idea in running him for the Legislature is to give him a chance to accumulate poverty, and have some saved up for a rainy day." Several people wept here, and wiped their eyes on their alabaster hands. The band then played, "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and yielding to the pressing demands of the populi, I made a few irrelevant, but low, passionate remarks, as follows: "Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:-We are not here, as I understand it, solely to tickle our palates with the twisted doughnuts of our pampered and sin-cust civilization, but to unite and give our pledges once more to the support of the best men. In this teacup of foaming and impervious cider from the Valley of the Jordan I drink to the success of the best men. Fellow citizens and members of the band, we owe our fealty to the old party. Let us cling to the old party as long as there is any juice in it and vote for its candidates. Let us give our suffrages to men of advanced thought who are loyal to their party but poor. Gentlemen, I am what would be called a poor but brainy man. When I am not otherwise engaged you will always find me engaged in thought. I love the excitement of following an idea and chasing it up a tree. It is a great pleasure for me to pursue the red-hot trail of a thought or the intellectual spoor of an idea. But I do not allow this habit to interfere with politics. Politics and thought are radically different. Why should man think himself weak on these political matters when there are men who have made it their business and life study to do the thinking for the masses? "This is my platform. I believe that a candidate should be poor; that he should be a thinker on other matters, but leave political matters and nominations to professional political ganglia and molders of primaries who have given their lives and the inner coating of their stomachs to the advancement of political methods by which the old, cumbersome and dangerous custom of defending our institutions with drawn swords may be superseded by the modern and more attractive method of doing so with overdrawn salaries. "Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:-In closing let me say that you have seen me placed in the trying position of postmaster for the past year. For that length of time I have stood between you and the government at Washington. I have assisted in upholding the strong arm of the government, and yet I have not allowed it to crush you. No man here to-night can say that I have ever, by word or deed, revealed outside the office the contents of a postal card addrest to a member of my own party or held back or obstructed the progress of new and startling seeds sent by our representative from the Agricultural Department. I am in favor of a full and free interchange of interstate redeyed and pale beans, and I favor the early advancement and earnest recognition of the merits of the highly offensive partizan. I thank you, neighbors and band (husky and pianissimo), for this gratifying little demonstration. Words seem empty and unavailing at this time. Will you not accept the hospitality of my home? Neighbors, you are welcome to these halls. Come in and look at the family album." ONE AFTERNOON ANONYMOUS The events narrated in the following story take place about the middle of the twentieth century. At that date the institution known as the department store had reached its full development. There was not a single article of any kind that could not be purchased at one of these mammoth emporiums. It is well to bear this fact in mind, for the whole action of this story takes place under the roof of Sniggle Scooper's Department Store. SCENE THE FIRST. When Charlie Hussel entered Sniggle Scooper's refreshment department on that beautiful summer afternoon, he had no more idea of getting married than most millionaires have of paying full taxes on all their property. Charlie sat down at the counter and ordered a plain soda. He had been at the club the night before and his nerves were somewhat unstrung. While waiting for his soda he noticed a young lady by his side toying with an ice cream soda marked down from seven cents to four and a half. She was as fair as a poet's dream and the young man's heart beat tumultuously within him as he gazed at her. He longed for an opportunity of speaking to her and at last it came. She dropt her purse,-whether by accident I leave you to conjecture. Picking up the pocketbook our hero handed it to the young lady with a bow. She took the pocketbook, but returned the bow. "Thank you," she murmured; "you are very kind.” "No," said he, "I am not kind. I'm a selfish brute!" |