Windy McPherson's Son

chin in the air as he walked, came upon the station platform of the little corn-shipping town of Caxton in Iowa. It was a board platform, and the boy walked cautiously, lifting h

baggage-man, seeing the cigar in his hand, laughed, and

ame to-night,

the town, his eyes bent on the ends of his fingers on which he was making computations with his thumb. Jerry looked after him, grinning so that his red gums made a splash of colour on his bearded face. A gleam of paternal pride lit his eyes and he shook his hea

unging at the front of Geiger's drug store. Before the door of the shoe store he paused a moment, and taking a small note-book from

g song broke the evening quiet of the street, and a voic

windows and he

p the handle of t

that handle

he ruler of the

ewalk with their heels to make a chorus for the song. Sam's smile broadened into a grin as he looked at the singer, Freedom Smith, a buyer of butter and eggs, and past him at John Telfer, the orator, the dandy, the only man in town, except Mike McCarthy, who kept his trousers creased. Among all the men

s, a prosperous milliner. They were the most successful married pair in Caxton, and after years of life together they were still in love; were never indifferent to each other, and never quarrelled; Telfer treated his wife with as much consideration and resp

ses hanging from a gold chain, and a cane lightly swinging from his hand, he made a figure that might have passed unnoticed on the promenade before some fashionable summer hotel, but that seemed a breach of the laws of nature when seen on the streets of a corn-shipping town in I

that works underground intent upon worms. The trick he has of tilting up his nose is only his way of smelling out stray pennies. I have it fro

shoulder. Telfer, his legs spread apart and the cane hooked upon his arm, began rolling a cigarette; Geiger, a yellow skinned man with fat cheeks and with hands clasped over his round paunch, smoked a black cigar, and as he sent each puff into the air, grunted forth his satisfaction with l

Sam's shoulder, Valmore and Freedom Smith talked of the co

he wild things are almost gone," said Freed

tobacco. "Young Henry Kerns has got married," observed one of them, striving to make talk. "He has married

rs trembled and the tobacco that was to have been the

led her that?" He glared fiercely about. "Let us have an end to this blatant misuse o

ement. Geiger, taking the cigar between his fingers, listened with open mouth to the outburst that followed. Valmore and Freedom Smith dropped their conversation and with broad smiles u

mself for one of the long speeches with which he loved to astonish the men of Caxton, and glaring down at those seated upon the stone. "It is the artist who,

ht pour the flood of his eloquence, but on all sides smil

tter and a hundredweight of black iron he makes do the work of a hundred housewives. But an artist tests his brains against the greatest brains of all times; he stands upon the peak of life and hurls himself against t

rs upon dishes for all I care," spoke up Valmore, laughing g

" shouted Telfer, whirling and shaking his cane at

and the boy standing beside the blacksmith threw up hi

ist practising the most difficult of all arts-the art of living. Here in this western village I stand and f

almore to the me

swagger in the noontime; and in the evening, like Socrates of old, I gather a little group of you benighted

urself, John," grumbled Freedom Sm

s varied, it is full of charm

embled. Flourishing his cane he threw back his head and blew smoke into the air. He thought that in spite of the roar o

big outside world. Had not this Telfer travelled far? Had he not lived in New York and Paris? Without understanding the sense of what had been said, Sam felt that it must be something big

ou and Fatty at an end? Are we going to lose our evening's diversion? Has Fa

the bundle of newspapers, Sam ran down the street, Telfer, V

ton, a blue-coated train news merchant leaped hurried

om Smith's huge voice, "Sam's

le of Omaha papers, you Irish loafer?" he shouted, shaking his fist at Jerry Donlin wh

. "In the baggage-room, of course. Hurry, man

is head out of the cab; the conductor, a dignified looking man with a grey moustache, threw back his head and shook with mirth; a young man with a suit-case in his hand

wly pushing the empty truck along the platform. From the train came a clear voice calling, "Latest Omaha paper

The conductor, waving his hand, jumped upon the steps of the tr

n the head of Jerry Donlin. "There was no need to put it under a mail

ing train and began running from car to car. Off the last car dropped Sam McPherson, a smile upon his lips, the bundl

ide of Valmore, waved his cane

the spirit of the old buccaneers is dead? That boy didn't under