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The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch By: Henry Wallace Phillips (1869-1930) |
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by HENRY WALLACE PHILLIPS Author of Red Saunders
Plain Mary Smith
etc. With Illustrations by F. Graham Cootes New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers Copyright 1908
The Bobbs Merrill Company
October THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH
THE MASCOT OF SWEET BRIAR GULCH
The gulch ran in a trough of beauty to the foot of Jones's Hill, which
rose in a sweeping curve into the clouds. Wild flowers, trees in profuse leaf, and mats of vines covered the
scarred earth, and the sky was as limpid as spring water; the air carried
a weight of heart stirring odors, yet Jim Felton, sitting on the
door step of his cabin in the brilliant sunshine, was not a happy man. He looked at the hollow of the gulch and cursed it manfully and bitterly.
The gold should be there Jim had figured it all out. The old wash cut at
right angles to the creek, and at the turn was where its freight of
yellow metal should have been deposited, but when you got down to the
bed rock, the blasted stuff was either slanted so nothing could stay on
it, or was rotten crumbling in your fingers, and that kind of bed will
hold nothing. Therefore Jim had sunk about fifty prospect holes; got colors under the
grass roots, as evidence that pay should be there and nothing but ashy
wash beneath it. When a man is alone, and thinks things are wrong, optimism comes down on
the run, the shades of pessimism gather fast and furious more especially
if a man does his own cooking, and the raw material is limited, at that. The sun had not moved the shadows three inches before Jim had reached the
conclusion that this world was all a practical joke, of so low an order
that no sensible man would even laugh at it, and he drew a letter from
his pocket in proof thereof. It was a thin letter, written on delicate
paper in a delicate hand, and it showed much wear. He read for the
thousandth time: Dearest Jim And again I must say "no." Of course you will not
understand, for which foolish reason I like you all the better, but
you must try to take my point of view. You say that we can be
married on nothing and take our chances. So we can, old simple heart but aren't those chances all against
us? Would you like to be forced to work in some office for just
enough to live on? You know you would not, and you know how you
would suffer in such slavery. Nevertheless we can not live on air, and I doubt if I would stand
transplanting to the wild life you love, better than you to a
clerk's desk. You have that fancy which gilds the tin cans in the
back yard; I have that unfortunate eye which would multiply their
number by three, and their unsightliness by ten. I don't want
riches, dear; I only want a modest assurance that I can have enough
to live on. Really, is your way of doing a guarantee of even bread and butter? In
the Garden of Eden you would be the most delightful of companions,
but in this world as it is, you will not fight for your own. You
would risk your life to save a dog, but you couldn't stay at a
continued grind I mean it would kill you, actually, physically,
dead, dead to save all of us. At first I thought that a fault in
you, but now, being older, having compared you to other men, I see it
is merely a missing faculty. I could stick to the desk, and would gladly, if you would let me,
yet I could not even fancy behaving as you did at the factory fire,
which is still the symbol in the town for manly courage and presence
of mind. They talk now of the way you laughed and joked with those poor
frightened girls (who had such good cause to be frightened) and
brought them back to sanity with a jest. I feel that if I had the
least atom of heroism in me I would marry you for that feat alone,
and let cold facts go hang; but, ah, Jim! magnificent as you are on
the grand occasions, they come but seldom, and in the meantime,
Jim I'll leave that to your own honesty. I'm plebeian, Jim, and you're a nobleman, with a beautiful but
embarrassing disregard for vulgar necessities... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
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