Outing . heguide as capper, have sold seventeen ofthose dollar-thirty-nine fiddles for genuineStrads since the railroad came throughCass Lake! I told you about their , it was just the smoothest rig everframed. They had the stage set for theplay, and if they didnt play it, Idlike to know where they missed a step!They fooled me all right. That aint sobad, because Im easy; but oh, GreatScott, how glad I am they stuck Luvin^sky! If those two folks sell a violin a year,they think theyre doing well. They makea living at it. Work? They dont haveto work. If you and I had talent like that,do
Outing . heguide as capper, have sold seventeen ofthose dollar-thirty-nine fiddles for genuineStrads since the railroad came throughCass Lake! I told you about their , it was just the smoothest rig everframed. They had the stage set for theplay, and if they didnt play it, Idlike to know where they missed a step!They fooled me all right. That aint sobad, because Im easy; but oh, GreatScott, how glad I am they stuck Luvin^sky! If those two folks sell a violin a year,they think theyre doing well. They makea living at it. Work? They dont haveto work. If you and I had talent like that,do you suppose wed have to work? P. S.—I think itll kill Ludie. Heslost twelve pounds of flesh already. Hishearts broken. And when I write andtell that consumptive Yankee that hecould have had a thousand out of Ludieas easy as a hundred—why, it will breakhis heart, too. Talk about Greeks! Hereswhere they met for sure. QUANK! QUACK! QK! THE STORY OF A DAYS DOINGS WITH NORTHDAKOTA FOWL BY MAXIMILIAN FOSTER. 5351 U C K S ?—why, yes-legion, a host, a count-less myriad of ducks!From its staring, cloud-less height, the NorthDakota sun glared downupon the yellow levelof standing wheat and stubble, and wetwo sat beside the slough, a ditch ofreed-edged ooze that gleamed thicklylike a pool of oil, debating crosslywhether we should walk home or sit thereawaiting Joseph, his pleasure, and ourmissing wagon. But ducks?—yes, therewere plenty of ducks, though none for miles to the south, a string of mis-timed geese wheeled sky-high above thechain of prairie ponds, dark specks likeliving larvae suspended in a glass of crystalliquid—and then the geese were gone, dis-solved in the void of the heat-swaying dis-tance. Peter Chauncey arose, eye, detached from its watch forJoseph, returned to the slough in before—and always, it seemed that day—a mob of mud hens snoozed in comfort-able intimacy among our outlying raft ofdecoys. There were doubles—dozens—h
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade, booksubjectsports, booksubjecttravel
